<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<div>
<h1 class='c000'><span class='xxlarge'>PATIENCE WORTH</span><br/> <br/><span class='xlarge'>A PSYCHIC MYSTERY</span></h1></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div class='c002'>By</div>
<div class='c001'><span class='xlarge'>CASPER S. YOST</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='figcenter id001'>
<ANTIMG src='images/logo.jpg' alt='colophon' class='ig001' /></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c002'>
<div>NEW YORK</div>
<div><span class='large'>HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</span></div>
<div><span class='large'>1916</span></div>
<div class='c002'><span class='xsmall'><span class='sc'>Copyright, 1916</span></span></div>
<div class='c001'><span class='xxsmall'>BY</span></div>
<div class='c001'><span class='xsmall'>HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</span></div>
<div class='c001'><span class='xsmall'><i>Published February, 1916</i></span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_iii'>iii</span>
<h2 class='c003'>PREFACE</h2></div>
<p class='c004'>The compiler of this book is not a spiritualist,
nor a psychologist, nor a member of
the Society for Psychical Research; nor has
he ever had anything more than a transitory
and skeptical interest in psychic phenomena of
any character. He is a newspaper man whose
privilege and pleasure it is to present the facts
in relation to some phenomena which he does
not attempt to classify nor to explain, but
which are virtually without precedent in the
record of occult manifestations. The mystery
of Patience Worth is one which every reader
may endeavor to solve for himself. The sole
purpose of this narrative is to give the visible
truth, the physical evidence, so to speak, the
things that can be seen and that are therefore
susceptible of proof by ocular demonstration.
In this category are the instruments of communication
<span class='pageno' id='Page_iv'>iv</span>and the communications themselves,
which are described, explained and, in
some cases, interpreted, where an effort at interpretation
seems to be desirable.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c003'>CONTENTS</h2></div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='84%' />
<col width='15%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c005'></td>
<td class='c006'><span class='xsmall'>PAGE</span></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Coming of Patience Worth</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_1'>1</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Nature of the Communications</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_9'>9</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Personality of Patience</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_37'>37</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Poetry</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_63'>63</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Prose</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_107'>107</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Conversations</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_173'>173</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Religion</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_223'>223</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Ideas on Immortality</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_247'>247</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Index</span></td>
<td class='c006'><SPAN href='#Page_287'>287</SPAN></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span>
<h2 class='c003'>THE COMING OF PATIENCE WORTH</h2></div>
<p class='c004'>Upon a July evening in 1913 two women
of St. Louis sat with a ouija board upon their
knees. Some time before this a friend had
aroused their interest in this unfathomable
toy, and they had since whiled away many an
hour with the inscrutable meanderings of the
heart-shaped pointer; but, like thousands of
others who had played with the instrument,
they had found it, up to this date, but little
more than a source of amused wonder. The
messages which they had laboriously spelled
out were only such as might have come from
the subconsciousness of either one or the other,
or, at least, were no more strange than innumerable
communications which have been received
through the reading of the ouija board.</p>
<p class='c007'>But upon this night they received a visitor.
The pointer suddenly became endowed with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>an unusual agility, and with great rapidity
presented this introduction:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Many moons ago I lived. Again I come.
Patience Worth my name.”</p>
<p class='c007'>The women gazed, round-eyed, at each other,
and the board continued:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Wait. I would speak with thee. If thou
shalt live, then so shall I. I make my bread by
thy hearth. Good friends, let us be merrie.
The time for work is past. Let the tabbie
drowse and blink her wisdom to the firelog.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“How quaint that is!” one of the women
exclaimed.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Good Mother Wisdom is too harsh for
thee,” said the board, “and thou shouldst love
her only as a foster mother.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Thus began an intimate association with
“Patience Worth” that still continues, and
a series of communications that in intellectual
vigor and literary quality are virtually without
precedent in the scant imaginative literature
quoted in the chronicles of psychic phenomena.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>The personality of Patience Worth—if personality
it may be called—so impressed itself
upon these women, at the first visit, that they
got pencil and paper and put down not only
all that she transmitted through the board,
but all the questions and comment that elicited
her remarks; and at every meeting since
then, a verbatim record has been made
of the conversation and the communications.</p>
<p class='c007'>These records have accumulated until they
have filled several volumes of typewritten
pages, and upon them, and upon the writer’s
personal observations of the workings of the
phenomena, this narrative is based. They
include conversations, maxims, epigrams, allegories,
tales, dramas, poems, all the way from
sportive to religious, and even prayers, most of
them of no little beauty and of a character
that may reasonably be considered unique in
literature.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>The women referred to are Mrs. John H.
Curran, wife of the former Immigration Commissioner
<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>of Missouri, and Mrs. Emily Grant
Hutchings, wife of the Secretary of the Tower
Grove Park Board in St. Louis, both ladies of
culture and refinement. Mrs. Curran is a
young woman of nervous temperament, bright,
vivacious, ready of speech. She has a taste for
literature, but is not a writer, and has never
attempted to write anything more ambitious
than a personal letter. Mrs. Hutchings, on
the other hand, is a professional writer of skill,
and it was to her quick appreciation of the
quality of the communications that the starting
of the record is due. It was soon apparent,
however, that it was Mrs. Curran who was the
sole agent of transmission; for the communications
came only when she was at the board,
and it mattered not who else sat with her.
During the first months only Mrs. Curran and
Mrs. Hutchings sat, but gradually the circle
widened, and others assisted Mrs. Curran.
Sometimes as many as five or six would sit with
her in the course of an evening. Mr. Curran
has acted as amanuensis, and recorded the communications
at most of the sittings, Mrs. Curran’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>mother, Mrs. Mary E. Pollard, occasionally
taking his place.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>The ouija board is a rectangular piece of
wood about 16 inches wide by 24 inches in
length and half an inch thick. Upon it the
letters of the alphabet are arranged in two
concentric arcs, with the ten numerals below,
and the words “Yes” and “No” at the upper
corners. The planchette, or pointer, is a thin,
heart-shaped piece of wood provided with
three legs, upon which it moves about upon
the board, its point indicating the letters of
the words it is spelling. Two persons are
necessary for its operation. They place the
tips of their fingers lightly upon the pointer
and wait. Perhaps it moves; perhaps it does
not. Sometimes it moves aimlessly about the
board, spelling nothing; sometimes it spells
words, but is unable to form a sentence; but
often it responds readily enough to the impulses
which control it, and even answers questions
intelligibly, occasionally in a way that
excites the wonder and even the awe of those
<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>about it. Its powers have been attributed by
some to supernatural influence, by others to
subconsciousness, but science has looked upon
it with disdain, as, until recent years, science
has looked upon nearly all unprecedented
phenomena.</p>
<p class='c007'>Mr. W. T. Carrington, an eminent English
investigator of psychical phenomena, in an
exhaustive work upon the subject, has this to
say of the ouija board: “Granting for the sake
of argument that the board is moved by the
sitter, either consciously or unconsciously, the
great and vital question still remains: What is
the intelligence behind the board, that directs
the phenomena? Whoever sets out to give a
final and decisive answer to this question in the
present state of our knowledge will have his
task cut out for him, and I wish him happiness
in the undertaking. Personally I am attempting
nothing of the kind.”</p>
<p class='c007'>The ouija board has been in use for many
years. There is no element of novelty in the
mere fact that curious and puzzling messages
are received by means of it. I emphasize this
<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>fact because I wish to place the board in its
proper relation to the communications from
the intelligence calling herself Patience
Worth. Aside from the psychical problem
involved—and which, so far as the board is
concerned, is the same in this case as in many
others—the ouija board has no more significance
than a pen or a pencil in the hand. It is
merely an instrument for the transmission of
thought in words. In comparison with the personality
and the literature which it reveals in
this instance, it is a factor of little significance.
It is proper to say, however, at this point,
that every word attributed to Patience Worth
in this volume was received by Mrs. Curran
through this instrument.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>
<h2 class='c003'>NATURE OF THE COMMUNICATIONS</h2></div>
<p class='c009'>“He who buildeth with peg and cudgel but buildeth
a toy for an age who will but cast aside the bauble as
naught; but he who buildeth with word, a quill and
a fluid, buildeth well.”—<span class='sc'>Patience Worth.</span></p>
<p class='c004'>There are a number of things that distinguish
Patience Worth from all other “intelligences”
that have been credited with
communications pretending to come from a
spiritual source. First is her intellect. One
of the strongest arguments against the genuineness
of such communications has been
the lack of intelligence often displayed in
them. They have largely been, though with
many exceptions, crude emanations of weak
mentalities, and few of the exceptions have
shown greater intellect or greater knowledge
than is possessed by the average human being.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>In a work entitled, “Is Death the
End?” Dr. John H. Holmes, an eminent
New York divine, gives considerable space
to the psychic evidence of immortality. In
the course of his discussion of this phase of
his subject he concisely describes the characteristic
features of psychic communications.
“Nobody,” he says, “can study the evidence
gathered in this particular field without noticing,
first of all, the triviality, almost the inanity,
of the communications received. Here
we come, eager for the evidence of future life
and information as to what it means to die and
pass into the great beyond. And what do we
get? First of all—and naturally enough, perhaps—frantic
efforts on the part of the alleged
spirits to prove their identity by the citation
of intricate and unimportant details of where
they were and what they did at different times
when they were here among men. Sometimes
there is a recounting of an event which is
taking place in a part of the world far removed
from the locality in which the medium
and the recipient are sitting. Again and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>again there is a descent to obscurity and feeble
chattering.”</p>
<p class='c007'>I quote this passage, not merely because
it so clearly states the experience and conclusions
of many who have investigated these
phenomena, but because it serves to show
by its marked contrast the wonder of
the communications from Patience Worth.
There are no efforts on her part to prove
her identity. On the contrary, she can
rarely be induced to speak of herself, and the
personal information she has reluctantly given
is disappointingly meager. “About me,” she
says, “thou wouldst know much. Yesterday
is dead. Let thy mind rest as to the past.”
She never speaks of her own acts as a physical
being; she never refers to any event taking
place in the world now or that has taken place
in the past. But far more important than
these, she reveals an intellect that is worthy
of any man’s respect. It is at once keen, swift,
subtle and profound. There is not once but
always a “sustained level of clear thought and
fine feeling.” There is obscurity at times, but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>it is usually the obscurity of profundity, and
intelligent study generally reveals a meaning
that is worth the effort. There is never a
“focusing of attention upon the affairs of this
world,” except for the purpose of displaying
its beauties and its wonders, and to assist in
explaining the world that she claims is to
come. For that other world she seems to try
to explain as far as some apparent limitations
permit, speaks as few have spoken before, and
her words often bring delight to the mind and
consolation to the soul.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>Before considering these communications in
detail, it would be well for the reader to become
a little better acquainted with the alleged
Patience herself. I speak of her as a
person, for whatever she, or it, may be, the
impression of a distinct personality is clear and
definite; and it is, besides, more convenient
so to designate her. Patience as a rule
speaks an archaic tongue that is in general the
English language of about the time of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>Stuarts, but which contains elements of a
usage still more ancient, and, not rarely, word
and phrase forms that seem never to have
been used in English or in any English dialect.
Almost all of her words, however, whether in
conversation or in literary composition, are
of pure Anglo-Saxon-Norman origin. There is
seldom a word of direct Latin or Greek parentage.
Virtually all of the objects she refers to
are things that existed in the seventeenth century
or earlier. In all of the great mass of
manuscript that has come from her we have not
noticed a single reference to an object of modern
creation or development; nor have more
than a dozen words been found in her writings
that may be of later origin than the seventeenth
century, and some of these words are
debatable. She has shown, in what would
seem to be a genuinely feminine spirit of
perversity, that she can use a modern word if
she chooses to do so. And if she is living now,
no matter when she was on earth, why should
she not? (She has twice used the word
<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>“shack,” meaning a roughly constructed
cabin, a word which is in that sense so new and
so local that it has but recently found a place
in the dictionaries.) But the fact remains that
the number of such words is so small as to be
negligible.</p>
<p class='c007'>Only one who has tried to write in archaic
English without committing anachronisms can
realize its tremendous difficulty. We are so
saturated with words and idioms of modern
origin that it is almost impossible wholly to
discard them, even when given every advantage
of time and reflection. How much more
difficult must it be then to use and maintain
such language without an error in ordinary
impromptu conversation, answering questions
that could not have been expected, and flashing
repartee that is entirely dependent upon
the situation or remarks of the moment. Yet
Patience does this with marvelous facility. So
she can hardly be Mrs. Curran.</p>
<p class='c007'>All of her knowledge of material things
seems to be drawn from English associations.
She is surprisingly familiar with the trees and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>flowers, the birds and beasts of England. She
knows the manners and customs of its people
as they were two or three centuries ago, the
people of the fields or the people of the
palace. Her speech is filled with references to
the furniture, utensils and mechanical contrivances
of the household of that time, and to
its articles of dress, musical instruments, and
tools of agriculture and the mechanical arts.
There are also a few indications of a knowledge
of New England life. Yet she has never
admitted a residence in England or New England,
has never spoken of a birthplace or an
abiding place anywhere, has never, in fact,
used a single geographical proper name in relation
to herself.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>The communications of Patience Worth
come in a variety of forms: Conversation that
is strewn with wit and wisdom, epigrams and
maxims; poems by the hundred; parables and
allegories; stories of a semi-dramatic character,
and dramas.</p>
<p class='c007'>Here is an example of her conversation from
<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>one of the early records—an evening when a
skeptical friend, a young physician, somewhat
disposed to the use of slang, was present with
his wife.</p>
<p class='c007'>As the ladies took the board, the doctor remarked:</p>
<p class='c007'>“I hope Patience Worth will come. I’d like
to find out what her game is.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Patience was there and instantly responded:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Dost, then, desire the plucking of another
goose?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“By George, she’s right there with
the grease, isn’t she?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Enough to baste the last upon
the spit.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“Well, that’s quick wit for you.
Pretty hard to catch her.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“The salt of today will not serve
to catch the bird of tomorrow.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“She’d better call herself the bird
of yesterday. I wonder what kind of a mind
she had, anyway.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Dost crave to taste the sauce?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“She holds to her simile of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>goose. I wish you’d ask her how she makes
that little table move under your hands to
spell the words.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“A wise cook telleth not the
brew.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“Turn that board over and let me
see what’s under it.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This was done, and after his inspection it
was reversed.</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Thee’lt bump thy nose to look
within the hopper.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“Whew! She doesn’t mind handing
you one, does she?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. Pollard.</i>—“That’s Patience’s way.
She doesn’t think we count for anything.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“The bell-cow doth deem the
good folk go to Sabboth house from the ringing
of her bell.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“She evidently thinks we are a
conceited lot. Well, I believe she’ll agree with
me that you can’t get far in this world without
a fair opinion of yourself.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“So the donkey loveth his
bray!”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span><i>The Doctor’s Wife.</i>—“You can draw her
on all you please. I’m going to keep perfectly
still.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Oh, e’en the mouse will have a
nibble.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. Curran.</i>—“There! She isn’t going to
let you off without a little roast. I wonder
what she has to say to you.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Did’st ever see the brood hen
puff up with self-esteem when all her chicks
go for a swim?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Doctor.</i>—“Let’s analyze that and see if
there’s anything in it.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Strain the potion. Mayhap
thou wilt find a fly.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>This will be sufficient to illustrate Patience’s
form of speech and her ready wit. It also
shows something of the character of the people
to whom and through whom she has usually
spoken. They are not solemn investigators nor
“pussy-footed” charlatans. There is no ceremony
about the sitting, no dimmed lights, no
compelled silences, no mummeries of any sort.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>The <i>assistance</i> is of the ordinary, fun-loving,
somewhat irreverent American type. The
board is brought into the living-room under the
full glare of the electric lamps. The men
perhaps smoke their cigars. If Patience
seems to be in the humor for conversation, all
may take part, and she hurls her javelins impartially.
A visitor is at once brought within
the umbra of her wit.</p>
<p class='c007'>Her conversation, as already indicated, is
filled with epigrams and maxims. A book
could be made from these alone. They are,
of course, not always original. What maxims
are? But they are given on the instant, without
possibility of previous thought, and are
always to the point. Here are a few of these
prompt aphorisms:</p>
<p class='c010'>“A lollypop is but a breeder of pain.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“An old goose gobbles the grain like a
gosling.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Dead resolves are sorry fare.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“The goose knoweth where the bin leaketh.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Quills of sages were plucked from geese.”</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>“Puddings fit for lords would sour the belly
of the swineboy.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“To clap the cover on a steaming pot of
herbs will but modify<SPAN name='r1' /><SPAN href='#f1' class='c011'><sup>[1]</sup></SPAN> the stench.”</p>
<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
<p class='c010'><SPAN href='#r1'>1</SPAN>. A word of this degree of latinity is very rare with her.</p>
</div>
<p class='c010'>“She who quacketh loudest deems the gander
not the lead at waddling time.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Climb not the stars to find a pebble.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“He who hath a house, a hearth and a friend
hath a lucky lot.”</p>
<p class='c007'>She is often caustic and incisive.</p>
<p class='c012'>“A man loveth his wife, but, ah, the buckles
on his knee breeks!”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Should I present thee with a pumpkin,
wouldst thou desire to count the seeds?”</p>
<p class='c010'>“A drink of asses’ milk would nurture the
swine, but wouldst thou then expect his song
to change from Want, Want, Want?”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Some folk, like the bell without a clapper,
go clanging on in good faith, believing the good
folk can hear them.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Were I to tell thee the pudding string
<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>were a spinet’s string, thou wouldst make
ready for the dance.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Thee’lt tie thy God within thy kerchief,
else have none of Him, and like unto a bat,
hang thyself topsy-turvy to better view His
handiwork.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“’Twould pleg thee sore should thy shadow
wear cap and bells.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“From constant wishing the moon may tip
for thee.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Wouldst thou have a daisy blossom upon
a thistle?”</p>
<p class='c010'>“Ye who carry pigskins to the well and lace
not the hole are a tiresome lot.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“He who eateth a bannock well made flattereth
himself should his belly not sour.”</p>
<p class='c013'>Aside from the dramatic compositions, some
of which are of great length, most of the communications
received from Patience have been
in verse. There is rarely a rhyme, practically
all being iambic blank verse in lines of irregular
length. The rhythm is almost uniformly
smooth. At some sittings the poetry begins
<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>to come as soon as the hands are placed upon
the planchette, and the evening is given over to
the production of verse. At others, verses are
mingled with repartee and epigram, but seldom
is an evening spent without at least one
poem coming. This was not the case in the
earlier months, when many sittings were given
up wholly to conversation. The poetry has
gradually increased in volume, as if the earlier
efforts of the influence had been tentative,
while the responsiveness of the intermediary
was being tested. So, too, the earlier verses
were fragments.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in6'>A blighted bud may hold</div>
<div class='line'>A sweeter message than the loveliest flower.</div>
<div class='line'>For God hath kissed her wounded heart</div>
<div class='line'>And left a promise there.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A cloak of lies may clothe a golden truth.</div>
<div class='line'>The sunlight’s warmth may fade its glossy black</div>
<div class='line'>To whitening green and prove the fault</div>
<div class='line'>Of weak and shoddy dye.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Oh, why let sorrow steel thy heart?</div>
<div class='line'>Thy busom is but its foster mother,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>The world its cradle, and the loving home</div>
<div class='line'>Its grave.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Weave sorrow on the loom of love</div>
<div class='line'>And warp the loom with faith.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>Such fragments, however, were but steps
leading to larger things. A little later on this
came:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>So thou hast trod among the tansey tuft</div>
<div class='line'>And murr and thyme, and gathered all the garden’s store,</div>
<div class='line'>And glutted on the lillie’s sensuous sweet,</div>
<div class='line'>And let thy shade to mar the sunny path,</div>
<div class='line'>And only paused to strike the slender humming bird,</div>
<div class='line'>Whose molten-tinted wing but spoke the song</div>
<div class='line'>Of fluttering joy, and in thy very hand</div>
<div class='line'>Turned to motley gray. Then thinkest thou</div>
<div class='line'>To build the garden back by trickery?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c015'>And then, some six months after her first
visit, came the poem which follows, and which
may be considered the real beginning of her
larger works:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Long lines of leaden cloud; a purple sea;</div>
<div class='line'>White gulls skimming across the spray.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>Oh dissonant cry! Art thou</div>
<div class='line'>The death cry of desire?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, wail, ye winds,</div>
<div class='line'>And search ye for my dearest wish</div>
<div class='line'>Along the rugged coast, and down</div>
<div class='line'>Where purling waters whisper</div>
<div class='line'>To the rosy coral reef.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, search! Ah, search!</div>
<div class='line'>And when ye return, bring ye the answering.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Do I stand and call unto the sea for answer?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, wisdom, where art thou?</div>
<div class='line'>A gull but shows thee to the Southland,</div>
<div class='line'>And leaden sky but warneth thee of storm.</div>
<div class='line'>And wind, thou art but a changeling.</div>
<div class='line'>So, shall I call to thee? Not so.</div>
<div class='line'>I build not upon the spray,</div>
<div class='line'>And seek not within the smaller world,</div>
<div class='line'>For God dwelleth not abroad, but deep within.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>There is spiritual significance, more or less
profound, in nearly all of the poems. Some
of the lines are obscure, but study reveals a
meaning, and the more I, at least, study them,
the more I have been impressed with the intellectual
power behind them. It is this that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>makes these communications seem to stand
alone among the numerous messages that
are alleged to have come from “that undiscovered
country.”</p>
<p class='c007'>An intense love of nature is expressed in
most of the communications, whether in prose
or verse, and also a wide knowledge of
nature—not the knowledge of the scientist, but
that of the poet.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>All silver-laced with web and crystal-studded, hangs</div>
<div class='line'>A golden lily cup, as airy as a dancing sprite.</div>
<div class='line'>The moon hath caught a fleeting cloud, and rests in her embrace.</div>
<div class='line'>The bumblefly still hovers o’er the clover flower,</div>
<div class='line'>And mimics all the zephyr’s song. White butterflies,</div>
<div class='line'>Whose wings bespeak late wooing of the buttercup,</div>
<div class='line'>Wend home their way, the gold still clinging to their snowy gossamer.</div>
<div class='line'>E’en the toad, who old and moss-grown seems,</div>
<div class='line'>Is wabbled on a lilypad, and watches for the moon</div>
<div class='line'>To bid the cloud adieu and light him to his hunt</div>
<div class='line'>For fickle marsh flies who tease him through the day.</div>
<div class='line'>Why, every rose has loosed her petals,</div>
<div class='line'>And sends a pleading perfume to the moss</div>
<div class='line'>That creeps upon the maple’s stalk, to tempt it hence</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>To bear a cooling draught. Round yonder trunk</div>
<div class='line'>The ivy clings and loves it into green.</div>
<div class='line'>The pansy dreams of coaxing goldenrod</div>
<div class='line'>To change her station, lest her modest flower</div>
<div class='line'>Be ever doomed to blossom ’neath the shadow of the wall.</div>
<div class='line'>And was not He who touched the pansy</div>
<div class='line'>With His regal robes and left their color there,</div>
<div class='line'>All-wise to leave her modesty as her greatest charm?</div>
<div class='line'>Here snowdrops blossom ’neath a fringe of tuft,</div>
<div class='line'>And fatty grubs find rest amid the mold.</div>
<div class='line'>All love, and Love himself, is here,</div>
<div class='line'>For every garden is fashioned by his hand.</div>
<div class='line'>Are then the garden’s treasures more of worth</div>
<div class='line'>Than ugly toad or mold? Not so, for Love</div>
<div class='line'>May tint the zincy blue-gray murk</div>
<div class='line'>Of curdling fall to crimson, light-flashed summertide.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, why then question Love, I prithee, friend?</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This is poetry, but there is something more
than liquid sweetness in its lines. There is a
truth. Deeper wisdom and a lore more profound
and more mystical are revealed or delicately
concealed in some of the others.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I searched among the hills to find His love,</div>
<div class='line'>And found but waving trees, and stones</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>Where lizards flaunt their green and slip to cool</div>
<div class='line'>Adown the moss. I searched within the field</div>
<div class='line'>To find His treasure-trove, and found but tasseled stalk</div>
<div class='line'>And baby grain, encradled in a silky nest.</div>
<div class='line'>I searched deep in the rose’s heart to find</div>
<div class='line'>His pledge to me, and steeped in honey, it was there.</div>
<div class='line'>Lo, while I wait, a vagabond with goss’mer wing</div>
<div class='line'>Hath stripped her of her loot and borne it all to me.</div>
<div class='line'>I searched along the shore to find His heart,</div>
<div class='line'>Ahope the lazy waves would bear it me;</div>
<div class='line'>And watched them creep to rest upon the sands,</div>
<div class='line'>Who sent them back again, asearch for me.</div>
<div class='line'>I sought amid a tempest for His strength,</div>
<div class='line'>And found it in its shrieking glee;</div>
<div class='line'>And saw man’s paltry blocks come crashing down,</div>
<div class='line'>And heard the wailing of the trees who grew</div>
<div class='line'>Afeared, and, moaning, caused the flowers to quake</div>
<div class='line'>And tremble lest the sun forget them at the dawn;</div>
<div class='line'>While bolts shot clouds asunder, and e’en the sea</div>
<div class='line'>Was panting with the spending of his might.</div>
<div class='line'>I searched within a wayside cot for His white soul,</div>
<div class='line'>And found a dimple next the lips of one who slept,</div>
<div class='line'>And watched the curtained wonder of her eyes,</div>
<div class='line'>Aflutter o’er the iris-colored pools that held His smile:</div>
<div class='line'>And touched the warm and shrinking lips, so mute,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>And yet so wise. For canst thou doubt whose kiss</div>
<div class='line'>Still lingers on their bloom?</div>
<div class='line in4'>Amid a muck of curse, and lie,</div>
<div class='line'>And sensuous lust, and damning leers,</div>
<div class='line'>I searched for Good and Light,</div>
<div class='line'>And found it there, aye, even there;</div>
<div class='line'>For broken reeds may house a lark’s pure nest.</div>
<div class='line'>I stopped me at a pool to rest,</div>
<div class='line'>And toyed along the brink to pluck</div>
<div class='line'>The cress who would so guard her lips:</div>
<div class='line'>And flung a stone straight to her heart,</div>
<div class='line'>And, lo, but silver laughter mocketh me!</div>
<div class='line'>And as I stoop to catch the plash,</div>
<div class='line'>Pale sunbeams pierce the bower,</div>
<div class='line'>And ah, the shade and laughter melt</div>
<div class='line'>And leave me, empty, there.</div>
<div class='line'>But wait! I search and find,</div>
<div class='line'>Reflected in the pool, myself, the searcher.</div>
<div class='line'>And, on the silver surface traced,</div>
<div class='line'>My answer to it all.</div>
<div class='line'>For, heart of mine, who on this journey</div>
<div class='line'>Sought with me, I knew thee not,</div>
<div class='line'>But searched for prayer and love amid the rocks</div>
<div class='line'>Whilst thou but now declare thyself to me.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, could I deem thee strong and fitting</div>
<div class='line'>As the tempest to depict His strength;</div>
<div class='line'>Or yet as gentle as the smile of baby lips,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>Or sweet as honeyed rose or pure as mountain pool?</div>
<div class='line'>And yet thou art, and thou art mine—</div>
<div class='line'>A gift and answer from my God.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>It is not my purpose to attempt an extended
interpretation of the metaphysics of these
poems. This one will repay real study. No
doubt there will be varied views of its meaning.</p>
<p class='c007'>These poems do not all move with the murmuring
ripple of running brooks. Some of
them, appalling in the rugged strength of their
figures of speech, are like the storm waves
smashing their sides against the cliffs. In my
opinion there are not very many in literature
that grip the mind with greater force than the
first two lines of the brief one which follows,
and there are few things more beautiful than
its conclusion:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, God, I have drunk unto the dregs,</div>
<div class='line'>And flung the cup at Thee!</div>
<div class='line'>The dust of crumbled righteousness</div>
<div class='line'>Hath dried and soaked unto itself</div>
<div class='line'>E’en the drop I spilled to Bacchus,</div>
<div class='line'>Whilst Thou, all-patient,</div>
<div class='line'>Sendest purple vintage for a later harvest.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>The poems sometimes contain irony, gentle
as a summer zephyr or crushing as a mailed
fist. For instance this challenge to the vainglorious:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strike ye the sword or dip ye in an inken well;</div>
<div class='line'>Smear ye a gaudy color or daub ye the clay?</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, beat upon thy busom then and cry,</div>
<div class='line'>“’Tis mine, this world-love and vainglory!”</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, master-hand, who guided thee? Stay!</div>
<div class='line'>Dost know that through the ages,</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, through the very ages,</div>
<div class='line'>One grain of hero dust, blown from afar,</div>
<div class='line'>Hath lodged, and moveth thee?</div>
<div class='line'>Wait. Wreathe thyself and wait.</div>
<div class='line'>The green shall deepen to an ashen brown</div>
<div class='line'>And crumble then and fall into thy sightless eyes,</div>
<div class='line'>While thy moldering flesh droppeth awry.</div>
<div class='line'>Wait, and catch thy dust.</div>
<div class='line'>Mayhap thou canst build it back!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>She touches all the strings of human emotion,
and frequently thrums the note of sorrow,
usually, however, as an overture to a pæan of
joy. The somber tones in her pictures,
to use another metaphor, are used mainly to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>strengthen the high lights. But now and then
there comes a verse of sadness such as this one,
which yet is not wholly sad:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in6'>Ah, wake me not!</div>
<div class='line'>For should my dreaming work a spell to soothe</div>
<div class='line'>My troubled soul, wouldst thou deny me dreams?</div>
<div class='line in6'>Ah, wake me not!</div>
<div class='line'>If ’mong the leaves wherein the shadows lurk</div>
<div class='line'>I fancy conjured faces of my loved, long lost;</div>
<div class='line'>And if the clouds to me are sorrow’s shroud;</div>
<div class='line'>And if I trick my sorrow, then, to hide</div>
<div class='line'>Beneath a smile; or build of wasted words</div>
<div class='line'>A key to wisdom’s door—wouldst thou deny me?</div>
<div class='line in6'>Ah, let me dream!</div>
<div class='line'>The day may bring fresh sorrows,</div>
<div class='line'>But the night will bring new dreams.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>When this was spelled upon the board, its
pathos affected Mrs. Curran to tears, and, to
comfort her, Patience quickly applied an antidote
in the following jingle, which illustrates
not only her versatility, but her sense of
humor:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Patter, patter, briney drops,</div>
<div class='line'>On my kerchief drying:</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>Spatter, spatter, salty stream,</div>
<div class='line'>Down my poor cheeks flying.</div>
<div class='line'>Brine enough to ’merse a ham,</div>
<div class='line'>Salt enough to build a dam!</div>
<div class='line'>Trickle, trickle, all ye can</div>
<div class='line'>And wet my dry heart’s aching.</div>
<div class='line'>Sop and sop, ’tis better so,</div>
<div class='line'>For in dry soil flowers ne’er grow.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This little jingle answered its purpose.
Mrs. Curran’s tears continued to fall, but they
were tears of laughter, and all of the little
party about the board were put in good spirits.
Then Patience dryly remarked:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Two singers there be; he who should sing
like a troubadour and brayeth like an ass, and
he who should bray that singeth.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>These examples will serve to illustrate the
nature of the communications, and as an introduction
to the numerous compositions that will
be presented in the course of this narrative.</p>
<p class='c007'>The question now arises, or, more likely, it
has been in the reader’s mind since the book was
opened: What evidence is there of their genuineness?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>Does Mrs. Curran, consciously or
subconsciously, produce this matter? It is
hardly credible that anyone able to write such
poems would bother with a ouija board to
do it.</p>
<p class='c007'>It will probably be quite evident to a
reader of the whole matter that whoever or
whatever it is that writes this poetry and
prose, possesses, as already intimated, not only
an unusual mind, but an unusual knowledge of
archaic forms of English, a close acquaintance
with nature as it is found in England, and a
familiarity with the manners and customs of
English life of an older time. Many of the
words used in the later compositions, particularly
those of a dramatic nature, are
obscure dialectal forms not to be found in any
work of literature. All of the birds and flowers
and trees referred to in the communications
are native to England, with the few exceptions
that indicate some knowledge of New
England. No one not growing up with the
language used could have acquired facility in
it without years of patient study. No one
<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>could become so familiar with English nature
without long residence in England: for the
knowledge revealed is not of the character that
can be obtained from books. Mrs. Curran has
had none of these experiences. She has never
been in England. Her studies since leaving
school have been confined to music, to which
art she is passionately attached, and in which
she is adept. She has never been a student of
literature, ancient or modern, and has never
attempted any form of literary work. She
has had no particular interest in English history,
English literature or English life.</p>
<p class='c007'>But, it may be urged, this matter might be
produced subconsciously, from Mrs. Curran’s
mind or from the mind of some person associated
with her. The phenomena of subconsciousness
are many and varied, and the word
is used to indicate, but does not explain, numerous
mysteries of the mind which seem
wholly baffling despite this verbal hitching
post. But I have no desire to enter into an
argument. My sole purpose is so to present
the facts that the reader may intelligently form
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>his own opinion. Here are the facts that relate
to this phase of the subject:</p>
<p class='c007'>Mrs. Curran does not go into a trance when
the communications are received. On the contrary,
her mind is absolutely normal, and she
may talk to others while the board is in operation
under her hands. It is unaffected by conversation
in the room. There is no <i>effort</i> at
mental concentration. Aside from Mrs. Curran,
it does not matter who is present, or
who sits at the board with her; there are seldom
the same persons at any two successive
sittings. Yet the personality of Patience is
constant and unvarying. As to subconscious
action on the part of Mrs. Curran, it would
seem to be sufficient to say that no one can
impart knowledge subconsciously, unless it
has been first acquired through the media of
consciousness; that is to say, through the
senses. No one, for example, who had never
seen or heard a word of Chinese, could speak
the language subconsciously. One may unconsciously
acquire information, but it must be
through the senses.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>It remains but to add that the reputation
and social position of the Currans puts them
above the suspicion of fraud, if fraud were at
all possible in such a matter as this; that Mrs.
Curran does not give public exhibitions, nor
private exhibitions for pay; that the compositions
have been received in the presence of their
friends, or of friends of their friends, all specially
invited guests. There seems nothing abnormal
about her. She is an intelligent, conscientious
woman, a member of the Episcopalian
church, but not especially zealous in
affairs of religion, a talented musician, a clever
and witty conversationalist, and a charming
hostess. These facts are stated not as gratuitous
compliments, but as evidences of character
and temperament which have a bearing upon
the question.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>
<h2 class='c003'>PERSONALITY OF PATIENCE</h2></div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c016'>
<div><span class='c017'>“Yea, I be me.”</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c004'>Patience, as I have said, has given very
little information about herself, and every effort
to pin her to a definite time or locality
has been without avail. When she first introduced
herself to Mrs. Curran, she was asked
where she came from, and she replied, “Across
the sea.” Asked when she lived, the pointer
groped among the figures as if struggling with
memory, and finally, with much hesitation
upon each digit, gave the date 1649. This
seemed to be so in accord with her language,
and the articles of dress and household use to
which she referred, that it was accepted as a
date that had some relation to her material
existence. But Patience has since made it
quite plain that she is not to be tied to any
period.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>“I be like to the wind,” she says, “and
yea, like to it do blow me ever, yea, since
time. Do ye to tether me unto today I
blow me then tomorrow, and do ye to
tether me unto tomorrow I blow me then
today.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Indeed, she at times seems to take a mischievous
delight in baffling the seeker after
personal information; and at other times, when
she has a composition in hand, she expresses
sharp displeasure at such inquiries. As this
is not a speculative work, but a narrative, the
attempt to fix a time and place for her will be
left to those who may find interest in the task.
All that can be said with definiteness is that
she brings the speech and the atmosphere, as
it were, of an age or ages long past; that she
is thoroughly English, and that while she can
and does project herself back into the mists
of time, and speak of early medieval scenes as
familiarly as of the English renaissance, she
does not make use of any knowledge she may
possess of modern developments or modern
conditions. And yet, archaic in word and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>form as her compositions are, there is something
very modern in her way of thought and
in her attitude toward nature. An eminent
philologist asked her how it was that she used
the language of so many different periods, and
she replied: “I do plod a twist of a path and
it hath run from then till now.” And when
he said that in her poetry there seemed to be
echoes or intangible suggestions of comparatively
recent poets, and asked her to explain,
she said: “There be aneath the every stone a
hidden voice. I but loose the stone and lo, the
voice!”</p>
<p class='c007'>But while the archaic form of her speech and
writings is an evidence of her genuineness, and
she so considers it, she does not approve of its
analysis as a philological amusement. “I brew
and fashion feasts,” she says, “and lo, do ye
to tear asunder, thee wouldst have but grain
dust and unfit to eat. I put not meaning to
the tale, but source thereof.” That is to say,
she does not wish to be measured by the form
of her words, but by the thoughts they convey
and the source from which they come. And
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>she has put this admonition into strong and
striking phrases.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Put ye a value ’pon word? And weigh ye
the line to measure, then, the gift o’ Him ’pon
rod afashioned out by man?</p>
<p class='c007'>“I tell thee, He hath spoke from out the
lowliest, and man did put to measure, and lo,
the lips astop!</p>
<p class='c007'>“And He doth speak anew; yea, and He
hath spoke from out the mighty, and man doth
whine o’ track ashow ’pon path he knoweth not—and
lo, the mighty be astopped!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Yea, and He ashoweth wonders, and man
findeth him a rule, and lo, the wonder shrinketh,
and but the rule remaineth!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Yea, the days do rock with word o’ Him,
and man doth look but to the rod, and lo, the
word o’ Him asinketh to a whispering, to die.</p>
<p class='c007'>“And yet, in patience, He seeketh new days
to speak to thee. And thou ne’er shalt see His
working. Nay!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Look ye unto the seed o’ the olive tree,
aplanted. Doth the master, at its first burst
athrough the sod, set up a rule and murmur
<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>him, ‘’Tis ne’er an olive tree! It hath but a
pulp stem and winged leaves?’ Nay, he letteth
it to grow, and nurtureth it thro’ days, and
lo, at finish, there astandeth the olive tree!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Ye’d uproot the very seed in quest o’ root!
I bid thee nurture o’ its day astead.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I tell thee more: He speaketh not by line
or word; Nay, by love and giving.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Do ye also this, in His name.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>But, aside from the meagerness of her
history, there is no indefiniteness in her
personality, and this clear-cut and unmistakable
individuality, quite different from
that of Mrs. Curran, is as strong an evidence
of her genuineness as is the uniqueness
of her literary productions. To speak
of something which cannot be seen nor heard
nor felt as a personality, would seem to be a
misuse of the word, and yet personality is much
more a matter of mental than of physical characteristics.
The tongue and the eyes are
merely instruments by means of which personality
is revealed. The personality of Patience
<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>Worth is manifested through the instrumentality
of a ouija board, and her striking
individuality is thereby as vividly expressed as
if she were present in the flesh. Indeed, it
requires no effort of the imagination to visualize
her. Whatever she may be, she is at hand.
Nor does she have to be solicited. The moment
the fingers are on the board she takes command.
She seems fairly to jump at the opportunity
to express herself.</p>
<p class='c007'>And she is essentially feminine. There are
indubitable evidences of feminine tastes, emotions,
habits of thought, and knowledge. She
is, for example, profoundly versed in the methods
of housekeeping of two centuries or more
ago. She is familiar with all the domestic machinery
and utensils of that olden time—the
operation of the loom and the spinning wheel,
the art of cooking at an open hearth, the sanding
of floors; and this homely knowledge is the
essence of many of her proverbs and epigrams.</p>
<p class='c007'>“A good wife,” she says, “keepeth the floor
well sanded and rushes in plenty to burn. The
<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>pewter should reflect the fire’s bright glow;
but in thy day housewifery is a sorry trade.”</p>
<p class='c007'>At another time she opened the evening
thus:</p>
<p class='c007'>“I have brought me some barley corn and
a porridge pot. May I then sup?”</p>
<p class='c007'>And the same evening she said to Mrs. Pollard:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Thee’lt ever stuff the pot and wash the
dishcloth in thine own way. Alackaday! Go
brush thy hearth. Set pot aboiling. Thee’lt
cook into the brew a stuff that tasteth full well
unto thy guest.”</p>
<p class='c007'>A collection of maxims for housekeepers
might be made from the flashes of Patience’s
conversation. For example:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Too much sweet may spoil the short
bread.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Weak yarn is not worth the knitting.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“A pound for pound loaf was never known
to fail.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“A basting but toughens an old goose.”</p>
<p class='c007'>These and many others like them were used
by her in a figurative sense, but they reveal an
<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>intimate knowledge of the household arts and
appliances of a forgotten time. If she knows
anything of stoves or ranges, of fireless cookers,
of refrigerators, of any of the thousand
and one utensils which are familiar to the
modern housewife, she has never once let slip
a word to betray such knowledge.</p>
<p class='c007'>At one time, after she had delivered a poem,
the circle fell into a discussion of its meaning,
and after a bit Patience declared they were
“like treacle dripping,” and added, “thee’lt
find the dishcloth may make a savory stew.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“She’s roasting us,” cried Mrs. Hutchings.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Nay,” said Patience, “boiling the pot.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“You don’t understand our slang, Patience,”
Mrs. Hutchings explained. “Roasting
means criticising or rebuking.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Yea, basting,” said Patience.</p>
<p class='c007'>Mrs. Pollard remarked: “I’ve heard my
mother say, ‘He got a basting!’”</p>
<p class='c007'>“An up-and-down turn to the hourglass
does to a turn,” Patience observed dryly.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I suppose she means,” said Mrs. Hutchings,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>“that two hours of basting or roasting
would make us understand.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Would she be likely to know about hourglasses?”
Mrs. Curran asked.</p>
<p class='c007'>Patience answered the question.</p>
<p class='c007'>“A dial beam on a sorry day would make a
muck o’ basting.” Meaning that a sundial was
of no use on a cloudy day.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>But Patience is not usually as patient with
lack of understanding as this bit of conversation
would indicate.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I dress and baste thy fowl,” she said once,
“and thee wouldst have me eat for thee. If
thou wouldst build the comb, then search thee
for the honey.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Oh, we know we are stupid,” said one.
“We admit it.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Saw drip would build thy head and fill thy
crannies,” Patience went on, “yet ye feel smug
in wisdom.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And again: “I card and weave, and ye look
a painful lot should I pass ye a bobbin to
wind.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>A request to repeat a doubtful line drew
forth this exclamation: “Bother! I fain would
sew thy seam, not do thy patching.”</p>
<p class='c007'>At another time she protested against a discussion
that interrupted the delivery of a
poem: “Who then doth hold the distaff from
whence the thread doth wind? Thou art shuttling
’twixt the woof and warp but to mar the
weaving.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And once she exclaimed, “I sneeze on rust
o’ wits!”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>But it must not be understood that Patience
is bad-tempered. These outbreaks are quoted
to show one side of her personality, and they
usually indicate impatience rather than anger:
for, a moment after such caustic exclamations,
she is likely to be talking quite genially or dictating
the tenderest of poetry. She quite
often, too, expresses affection for the family
with which she has associated herself. At one
time she said to Mrs. Curran, who had expressed
impatience at some cryptic utterance
of the board:</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>“Ah, weary, weary me, from trudging and
tracking o’er the long road to thy heart! Wilt
thou, then, not let me rest awhile therein?”</p>
<p class='c007'>And again: “Should thee let thy fire to ember
I fain would cast fresh faggots.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And at another time she said of Mrs. Curran:
“She doth boil and seethe, and brew and
taste, but I have a loving for the wench.”</p>
<p class='c007'>But she seems to think that those with
whom she is associated should take her love
for granted, as home folks usually do, and she
showers her most beautiful compliments upon
the casual visitor who happens to win her
favor. To one such she said:</p>
<p class='c007'>“The heart o’ her hath suffered thorn, but
bloomed a garland o’er the wounds.”</p>
<p class='c007'>To a lady who is somewhat deaf she paid
this charming tribute:</p>
<p class='c007'>“She hath an ear upon her every finger’s
tip, and ’pon her eye a thousand flecks o’
color for to spread upon a dreary tale and
paint a leaden sky aflash. What need she o’
ears?”</p>
<p class='c007'>And to another who, after a time at the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>board, said she did not want to weary Patience:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Weary then at loving of a friend? Would
I then had the garlanded bloom o’ love she
hath woven and lighted, I do swear, with
smiling washed brighter with her tears.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And again: “I be weaving of a garland.
Do leave me then a bit to tie its ends. I
plucked but buds, and woe! they did spell but
infant’s love. I cast ye, then, a blown bloom,
wide petaled and rich o’ scent. Take thou
and press atween thy heart throbs—my gift.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Of still another she said: “She be a star-bloom
blue that nestleth to the soft grasses
of the spring, but ah, the brightness cast to
him who seeketh field aweary!”</p>
<p class='c007'>And yet again: “Fields hath she trod
arugged, aye, and weed agrown. Aye, and
e’en now, where she hath set abloom the blossoms
o’ her very soul, weed aspringeth. And
lo, she standeth head ahigh and eye to sky
and faith astrong. And foot abruised still
troddeth rugged field. But I do promise ye
’tis such an faith that layeth low the weed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>and putteth ’pon the rugged path asmoothe,
and yet but bloom shalt show, and ever shalt
she stand, head ahigh and eye unto the sky.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Upon an evening after she had showered
such compliments upon the ladies present she
exclaimed:</p>
<p class='c007'>“I be a wag atruth, and lo, my posey-wreath
be stripped!”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>She seldom favors the men in this way.
She has referred to herself several times as a
spinster, and this may account for a certain
reluctance to saying complimentary things of
the other sex. “A prosy spinster may but
plash in love’s pool,” she remarked once, and
at another time she said: “A wife shall brush
her goodman’s blacks and polish o’ his buckles,
but a maid may not dare e’en to blow the
trifling dust from his knickerbockers.” With
a few notable exceptions, her attitude toward
men has been expressed in sarcasm, none the
less cutting to those for whom she has an
affection manifested in other ways. To one
such she said:</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>“Thee’lt peg thy shoes, lad, to best their
wearing, and eat too freely of the fowl. Thy
belly needeth pegging sore, I wot.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Patience doesn’t mean that for me,” he
protested.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Nay,” she said, “the jackass ne’er can
know his reflection in the pool. He deemeth
the thrush hath stolen of his song. Buy thee
a pushcart. ’Twill speak for thee.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And of this same rotund friend she remarked,
when he laughed at something she
had said:</p>
<p class='c007'>“He shaketh like a pot o’ goose jell!”</p>
<p class='c007'>“I back up, Patience,” he cried.</p>
<p class='c007'>“And thee’lt find the cart,” she said.</p>
<p class='c007'>Of a visitor, a physician, she had this to
say:</p>
<p class='c007'>“He bindeth and asmears and looketh at a
merry, and his eye doth lie. How doth he
smite and stitch like to a wench, and brew o’er
steam! Yea, ’tis atwist he be. He runneth
whither, and, at a beconing, (beckoning)
yon, and ever thus; but ’tis a blunder-mucker
he he. His head like to a steel, yea, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>heart a summer’s cloud athin (within),
enough to show athrough the clear o’ blue.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>But it is upon the infant that Patience bestows
her tenderest words. Her love of childhood
is shown in many lines of rare and touching
beauty.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Ye seek to level unto her,” she said of a
baby girl who was present one evening, “but
thou art awry at reasoning. For he who putteth
him to babe’s path doth track him high,
and lo, the path leadeth unto the Door. Yea,
and doth she knock, it doth ope.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Cast ye wide thy soul’s doors and set
within such love. For, brother, I do tell thee
that though the soul o’ ye be torn, aye, and
scarred, ’tis such an love that doth heal. The
love o’ babe be the balm o’ earth.</p>
<p class='c007'>“See ye! The sun tarrieth ’bout the lips o’
her; aye, and though the hand be but thy finger’s
span, ’tis o’ a weight to tear away thy
heart.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And upon another occasion she revealed
something of herself in these words:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c018'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Know ye; in my heart’s mansion</div>
<div class='line'>There be apart a place</div>
<div class='line'>Wherein I treasure my God’s gifts.</div>
<div class='line'>Think ye to peer therein? Nay.</div>
<div class='line'>And should thee by a chance</div>
<div class='line'>To catch a stolen glimpse,</div>
<div class='line'>Thee’dst laugh amerry, for hord (hoard)</div>
<div class='line'>Would show but dross to thee:</div>
<div class='line'>A friend’s regard, ashrunked and turned</div>
<div class='line'>To naught—but one bright memory is there;</div>
<div class='line'>A hope—now dead, but showeth gold hid there;</div>
<div class='line'>A host o’ nothings—dreams, hopes, fears;</div>
<div class='line'>Love throbs afluttered hence</div>
<div class='line'>Since first touch o’ baby hands</div>
<div class='line'>Caressed my heart’s store ahidden.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Returning to the femininity of Patience, it is
also shown in her frequent references to dress.
Upon an evening when the publication of her
poems had been under discussion, when next
the board was taken up she let them know that
she had heard, in this manner:</p>
<p class='c007'>“My pettieskirt hath a scallop,” she said.
“Mayhap that will help thy history.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Oh,” cried Mrs. Curran, “we are discovered!”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>“Yea,” laughed Patience—she must have
laughed, “and tell thou of my buckled boots
and add a cap-string.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Further illustrative of her feminine characteristics
and of her interest in dress, as well
as of a certain fun-loving spirit which now
and then seems to sway her, is this record of a
sitting upon an evening when Mr. Curran and
Mr. Hutchings had gone to the theater, and
the ladies were alone:</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Go ye to the lighted hall to
search for learning? Nay, ’tis a piddle, not a
stream, ye search. Mayhap thou sendest thy
men for barleycorn. ’Twould then surprise
thee should the asses eat it.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“What is she driving at?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. P.</i>—“The men and the theater, I suppose.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“Patience, what are they seeing
up there?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Ne’er a timid wench, I
vum.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. C.</i>—“You don’t approve of their going,
do you, Patience?”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span><i>Patience.</i>—“Thee’lt find a hearth more
profit. Better they cast the bit of paper.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. C.</i>—“What does she mean by paper?
Their programmes?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Painted parchment squares.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. P.</i>—“Oh, she means they’d better stay
at home and play cards.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“Are they likely to get their
morals corrupted at that show?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“He who tickleth the ass to start
a braying, fain would carol with his brother.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. C.</i>—“If the singing is as bad as it
usually is at that place, I don’t wonder at her
disapproval. But what about the girls, Patience?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“My pettieskirt ye may borrow
for the brazens.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. P.</i>—“Now, what is a pettieskirt? Is
it really a skirt or is it that ruff they used to
wear around the neck?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Nay, my bib covereth the neckband.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“Then, where do you wear your
pettieskirt?”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span><i>Patience.</i>—“’Neath my kirtle.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. C.</i>—“Is that the same as girdle? Let’s
look it up.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Art fashioning thy new
frock?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“I predict that Patience will
found a new style—Puritan.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“’Twere a virtue, egad!”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“You evidently don’t think much
of our present style. In your day women
dressed more modestly, didn’t they?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Many’s the wench who pulled
her points to pop. But ah, the locks were
combed to satin! He who bent above might see
himself reflected.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. C.</i>—“What were the young girls of
your day like, Patience?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“A silly lot, as these of thine.
Wait!”</p>
<p class='c007'>There was no movement of the board for
about three minutes, and then:</p>
<p class='c007'>“’Tis a sorry lot, not harming but boresome!”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span><i>Mrs. H.</i>—“Oh, Patience, have you been to
the theater?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“A peep in good cause could
surely ne’er harm the godly.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Mrs. C.</i>—“How do you think we ought to
look after those men?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Thine ale is drunk at the
hearth. Surely he who stops to sip may bless
the firelog belonging to thee.”</p>
<p class='c007'>When the men returned home they agreed
with the verdict of Patience before they had
heard it, that it was a “tame” show, “not
harming, but boresome.”</p>
<p class='c007'>The exclamation of Mrs. Curran, “Let’s
look it up,” in the extract just quoted from the
record, has been a frequent one in this circle
since Patience came. So many of her words
are obsolete that her friends are often compelled
to search through the dictionaries and
glossaries for their meaning. Her reference to
articles of dress—wimple, kirtle, pettieskirt,
points and so on, had all to be “looked up.”
Once Patience began an evening with this
remark:</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>“The cockshut finds ye still peering to find
the other land.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“What is cock’s hut?” asked Mrs. H.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Nay,” said Patience, “Cock-shut. Thee
needeth light, but cockshut bringeth dark.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Cockshut must mean shutting up the cock
at night,” suggested a visitor.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Aye, and geese, too, then could be put to
quiet,” Patience exclaimed. “Wouldst thou
wish for cockshut?”</p>
<p class='c007'>Search revealed that cockshut was a term
anciently applied to a net used for catching
woodcock, and it was spread at nightfall, hence
cockshut acquired also the meaning of early
evening. Shakespeare uses the term once, in
Richard III., in the phrase, “Much about
cockshut time,” but it is a very rare word in
literature, and probably has not been used,
even colloquially, for centuries.</p>
<p class='c007'>There are many such words used by Patience—relics
of an age long past. The writer
was present at a sitting when part of a romantic
story-play of medieval days was being
received on the board. One of the characters
<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>in the story spoke of herself as “playing the
jane-o’-apes.” No one present had ever heard
or seen the word. Patience was asked if it had
been correctly received, and she repeated it.
Upon investigation it was found that it is a
feminine form of the familiar jackanapes,
meaning a silly girl. Massinger used it in one
of his plays in the seventeenth century, but
that appears to be the only instance of its use
in literature.</p>
<p class='c007'>These words may be not unknown to many
people, but the point is that they were totally
strange to those at the board, including Mrs.
Curran—words that could not possibly have
come out of the consciousness or subconsciousness
of any one of them. The frequent use
of such words helps to give verity to the archaic
tongue in which she expresses her thoughts,
and the consistent and unerring use of this
obsolete form of speech is, next to the character
of her literary production, the strongest
evidence of her genuineness. It will be noticed,
too, that the language she uses in conversation
is quite different from that in her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>literary compositions, although there are definite
similarities which seem to prove that
they come from the same source. In this also
she is wholly consistent: for it is unquestionably
true that no poet ever talked as he wrote.
Every writer uses colloquial words and idioms
in conversation that he would never employ in
literature. No matter what his skill or genius
as a writer may be, he talks “just like other
people.” Patience Worth in this, as in other
things, is true to her character.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>It may be repeated that in all this matter—and
it is but a skimming of the mass—one
may readily discern a distinct and striking personality;
not a wraith-like, formless, evanescent
shadow, but a personality that can be
clearly visualized. One can easily imagine
Patience Worth to be a woman of the Puritan
period, with, however, none of the severe
and gloomy beliefs of the Puritan—a woman
of a past age stepped out of an old picture and
leaving behind her the material artificialities of
paint and canvas. From her speech and her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>writings one may conceive her to be a woman
of Northern England, possibly: for she uses
a number of ancient words that are found to
have been peculiar to the Scottish border; a
country woman, perhaps, for in all of her communications
there are only two or three references
to the city, although her knowledge and
love of the drama may be a point against this
assumption; a woman who had read much in
an age when books were scarce, and women
who could read rarer still: for although she
frequently expresses disdain of book learning,
she betrays a large accumulation of such learning,
and a copious vocabulary, as well as a degree
of skill in its use, that could only have
been acquired from much study of books. “I
have bought beads from a pack,” she says,
“but ne’er yet have I found a peddler of
words.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And then, after we have mentally materialized
this woman, and given her a habitation
and a time, Patience speaks again, and all has
vanished. “Not so,” she said to one who questioned
her, “I be abirthed awhither and abide
<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>me where.” And again she likened herself to
the wind. “I be like the wind,” she said, “who
leaveth not track, but ever ’bout, and yet like
to the rain who groweth grain for thee to
reap.” At other times she has indicated that
she has never had a physical existence. I have
quoted her saying: “I do plod a twist o’ a path
and it hath run from then till now.” At a later
time she was asked what she meant by that.
She answered:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Didst e’er to crack a stone, and lo, a worm
aharded? (a fossil). ’Tis so, for list ye, I
speak like ye since time began.”</p>
<p class='c007'>It is thus she reveals herself clearly to the
mind, but when one attempts to approach too
closely, to lay a hand upon her, as it were, she
invariably recedes into the unfathomable deeps
of mysticism.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>
<h2 class='c003'>THE POETRY</h2></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c019'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Am I a broken lyre,</div>
<div class='line'>Who, at the Master’s touch,</div>
<div class='line'>Respondeth with a tinkle and a whir?</div>
<div class='line'>Or am I strung in full</div>
<div class='line'>And at His touch give forth the full chord?</div>
<div class='c020'>—<span class='sc'>Patience Worth.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c004'>As the reader will have observed, the poetry
of Patience Worth is not confined to a single
theme, nor to a group of related themes. It
covers a range that extends from inanimate
things through all the gradations of material
life and on into the life of spiritual realms as
yet uncharted. It includes poems of sentiment,
poems of nature, poems of humanity;
but the larger number deal with man in relation
to the mysteries of the beyond. All of
them evince intellectual power, knowledge of
nature and human nature, and skill in construction.
With the exception of one or two
little jingles, the poems are rhymeless. Patience
<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>may not wholly agree with Milton that
rhyme “is the invention of a barbarous age to
set off wretched matter and lame metre,”
but she seldom uses it, finding in blank verse a
medium that suits all her moods, making it at
will as light and ethereal as a summer cloud or
as solemn and stately as a Wagnerian march.
She molds it to every purpose, and puts it to
new and strange uses. Who, for example, ever
saw a lullaby in blank verse? It is, I believe,
quite without precedent in literature, and yet
it would not be easy to find a lullaby more
daintily beautiful than the one which will be
presented later on.</p>
<p class='c007'>In all of her verse, the iambic measure is
dominant, but it is not maintained with monotonous
regularity. She appreciates the
value of an occasional break in the rhythm, and
she understands the uses of the pause. But
she declines to be bound by any rules of line
measurement. Many of her lines are in accord
with the decasyllabic standard of heroic verse,
but in no instance is that standard rigidly adhered
to: some of the lines contain as many
<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>as sixteen syllables, others drop to eight or
even six.</p>
<p class='c007'>It should be explained, however, that the
poetry as it comes from the ouija board is not
in verse form. There is nothing in the dictation
to indicate where a line should begin or
where end, nor, of course, is there any punctuation,
there being no way by which the marks
of punctuation could be denoted. There is
usually, however, a perceptible pause at the
end of a sentence. The words are taken down
as they are spelled on the board, without any
attempt, at the time, at versification or punctuation.
After the sitting, the matter is punctuated
and lined as nearly in accord with the
principles of blank verse construction as the
abilities of the editor will permit. It is not
claimed that the line arrangement of the verses
as they are here presented is perfect; but that
is a detail of minor importance, and for whatever
technical imperfections there may be in
this particular, Patience Worth is not responsible.
The important thing is that every
word is given exactly as it came from the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>board, without the alteration of a syllable, and
without changing the position or even the spelling
of a single one.</p>
<p class='c007'>As a rule, Patience spells the words in accordance
with the standards of today, but there
are frequent departures from those standards,
and many times she has spelled a word two or
three different ways in the same composition.
For example, she will spell “spin” with one
n or two n’s indifferently: she will spell
“friend” correctly, and a little later will add
an e to it; she will write “boughs” and
“bows” in the same composition. On the
other hand she invariably spells tongue
“tung,” and positively refuses to change it,
and this is true also of the word bosom, which
she spells “busom.”</p>
<p class='c007'>There are indications that the poems and the
stories are in course of composition at the time
they are being produced on the ouija board.
Indeed, one can almost imagine the author dictating
to an amanuensis in the manner that was
necessary before stenography was invented,
when every word had to be spelled out in longhand.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>At times the little table will move with
such rapidity that it is very difficult to follow
its point with the eye and catch the letter indicated.
Then there will be a pause, and the
pointer will circle around the board, as if the
composer were trying to decide upon a word
or a phrase. Occasionally four or five words
of a sentence will be given, then suddenly the
planchette will dart up to the word “No,” and
begin the sentence again with different and, it
is to be presumed, more satisfactory words.</p>
<p class='c007'>Sometimes, though rarely, Patience will begin
a composition and suddenly abandon it
with an exclamation of displeasure, or else take
up a new and entirely different subject. Once
she began a prose composition thus:</p>
<p class='c007'>“I waste my substance on the weaving of
web and the storing of pebbles. When shall I
build mine house, and when fill the purse? Oh,
that my fancy weaved not but web, and desire
pricketh not but pebble!”</p>
<p class='c007'>There was an impatient dash across the
board, and then she exclaimed:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Bah, ’tis bally reasoning! I plucked a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>gosling for a goose, and found down enough
to pad the parson’s saddle skirts!”</p>
<p class='c007'>At another time she began:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Rain, art thou the tears wept a thousand
years agone, and soaked into the granite walls
of dumb and feelingless races? Now——”</p>
<p class='c007'>There was a long pause and then came this
lullaby:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Oh, baby, soft upon my breast press thou,</div>
<div class='line'>And let my fluttering throat spell song to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>A song that floweth so, my sleeping dear:</div>
<div class='line'>Oh, buttercups of eve,</div>
<div class='line'>Oh, willynilly,</div>
<div class='line'>My song shall flutter on,</div>
<div class='line'>Oh, willynilly.</div>
<div class='line'>I climb a web to reach a star,</div>
<div class='line'>And stub my toe against a moonbeam</div>
<div class='line'>Stretched to bar my way,</div>
<div class='line'>Oh, willynilly.</div>
<div class='line'>A love-puff vine shall shelter us,</div>
<div class='line'>Oh, baby mine;</div>
<div class='line'>And then across the sky we’ll float</div>
<div class='line'>And puff the stars away.</div>
<div class='line'>Oh, willynilly, on we’ll go,</div>
<div class='line'>Willynilly floating.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>“Thee art o’erfed on pudding,” she added
to Mrs. Curran. “This sauce is but a butter-whip.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And now, having briefly referred to the
technique of the poems, and explained the
manner in which they are transmitted we will
make a more systematic presentation of them.
For a beginning, nothing better could be offered
than the Spinning Wheel lullaby heretofore
referred to.</p>
<p class='c007'>In it we can see the mother of, perhaps,
the Puritan days, seated at the spinning wheel
while she sings to the child which is supposed
to lie in the cradle by her side. One can view
through the open door the old-fashioned
flower garden bathed in sunlight, can hear the
song of the bird and the hum of the bee, and
through it all the sound of the wheel. But!—it
is the song of a childless woman to an
imaginary babe: Patience has declared herself
a spinster.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, wee one,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>Croon unto the tendrill tipped with sungilt,</div>
<div class='line'>Nodding thee from o’er the doorsill there.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>My wheel shall sing to thee.</div>
<div class='line'>I pull the flax as golden as thy curl,</div>
<div class='line'>And sing me of the blossoms blue,</div>
<div class='line'>Their promise, like thine eyes to me.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>’Tis such a merry tale I spinn.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, wee one, croon unto the honey bee</div>
<div class='line'>Who diggeth at the rose’s heart.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>My wheel shall sing to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>Heart-blossom mine. The sunny morn</div>
<div class='line'>Doth hum with lovelilt, dear.</div>
<div class='line'>I fain would leave my spinning</div>
<div class='line'>To the spider climbing there,</div>
<div class='line'>And bruise thee, blossom, to my breast.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>What fancies I do weave!</div>
<div class='line'>Thy dimpled hand doth flutter, dear,</div>
<div class='line'>Like a petal cast adrift</div>
<div class='line'>Upon the breeze.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>’Tis faulty spinning, dear.</div>
<div class='line'>A cradle built of thornwood,</div>
<div class='line'>A nest for thee, my bird.</div>
<div class='line'>I hear thy crooning, wee one,</div>
<div class='line'>And ah, this fluttering heart.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>How ruthlessly I spinn!</div>
<div class='line'>My wheel doth wirr an empty song, my dear,</div>
<div class='line'>For tendrill nodding yonder</div>
<div class='line'>Doth nod in vain, my sweet;</div>
<div class='line'>And honey bee would tarry not</div>
<div class='line'>For thee; and thornwood cradle swayeth</div>
<div class='line'>Only to the loving of the wind!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>My wheel still sings to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>Thou birdling of my fancy’s realm!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>An empty dream, my dear!</div>
<div class='line'>The sun doth shine, my bird;</div>
<div class='line'>Or should he fail, he shineth here</div>
<div class='line'>Within my heart for thee!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Strumm, strumm!</div>
<div class='line in4'>My wheel still sings to thee.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>Who would say that rhyme or measured
lines would add anything to this unique
song? It is filled with the images which are the
essentials of true poetry, and it has the rhythm
which sets the imagery to music and gives it
vitality. “The tendrill tipped with sungilt,”
“the sunny morn doth hum with lovelilt,”
“thy dimpled hand doth flutter like a petal
cast adrift upon the breeze”—these are figures
that a Shelley would not wish to disown. There
is a lightness and delicacy, too, that would
seem to be contrary to our notions of the
adaptiveness of blank verse. But these are
technical features. It is the pathos of the
song, the expression of the mother-yearning
instinctive in every woman, which gives it
value to the heart.</p>
<p class='c007'>And yet there is a pleasure expressed in
this song, the pleasure of imagination, which
makes the mind’s pictures living realities. In
the poem which follows Patience expresses the
feelings of the dreamer who is rudely
awakened from this delightful pastime by the
realist who sees but what his eyes behold:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>Athin the even’s hour,</div>
<div class='line'>When shadow purpleth the garden wall,</div>
<div class='line'>Then sit thee there adream,</div>
<div class='line'>And cunger thee from out the pack o’ me.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, speak thou, and tell to me</div>
<div class='line'>What ’tis thou hearest here.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A rustling? Yea, aright!</div>
<div class='line'>A murmuring? Yea, aright!</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, then, thou sayest, ’tis the leaves</div>
<div class='line'>That love one ’pon the other.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and the murmuring, thou sayest,</div>
<div class='line'>Is but the streamlet’s hum.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Nay, nay! For wait thee.</div>
<div class='line'>Ayonder o’er the wall doth rise</div>
<div class='line'>The white faced Sister o’ the Sky.</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, she beareth thee a fairies’ wand,</div>
<div class='line'>And showeth thee the ghosts o’ dreams.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Look thou! Ah, look! A one</div>
<div class='line'>Doth step adown the path! The rustle?</div>
<div class='line'>‘Tis the silken whisper o’ her robe.</div>
<div class='line'>The hum? The love-note o’ her maiden dream.</div>
<div class='line'>See thee, ah, see! She bendeth there,</div>
<div class='line'>And branch o’ bloom doth nod and dance.</div>
<div class='line'>Hark, the note! A robin’s cheer?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>Ah, Brother, nay.</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis the whistle o’ her lover’s pipe.</div>
<div class='line'>See, see, the path e’en now</div>
<div class='line'>Doth show him, tall and dark, aside the gate.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>What! What! Thou sayest</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis but the rustle o’ the leaves,</div>
<div class='line'>And brooklet’s humming o’er its stony path!</div>
<div class='line'>Then hush! Yea, hush thee!</div>
<div class='line'>Hush and leave me here!</div>
<div class='line'>The fairy wand hath broke, and leaves</div>
<div class='line'>Stand still, and note hath ceased,</div>
<div class='line'>And maiden vanished with thy word.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Thou, thou hast broke the spell,</div>
<div class='line'>And dream hath heard thy word and fled.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, sunk, sunk upon the path,</div>
<div class='line'>They o’ my dreams—slain, slain,</div>
<div class='line'>And dead with but thy word.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, leave me here and go,</div>
<div class='line'>For Earth doth hold not</div>
<div class='line'>E’en my dreaming’s wraith.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>In previous chapters I have spoken of the
wit and humor of Patience Worth. In only
one instance has she put humor into verse, and
that I have already quoted; but at times her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>poetry has an airy playfulness of form that
gives the effect of humor, even though the
theme and the intent may be serious. Here is
an example:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind,</div>
<div class='line'>And whiffing on its way, doth blow a merry tale.</div>
<div class='line'>Where, in the fields all furrowed and rough with corn,</div>
<div class='line'>Late harvested, close-nestled to a fibrous root,</div>
<div class='line'>And warmed by the sun that hid from night there-neath,</div>
<div class='line'>A wee, small, furry nest of root mice lay.</div>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind.</div>
<div class='line'>I found this morrow, on a slender stem,</div>
<div class='line'>A glory of the morn, who sheltered in her wine-red throat</div>
<div class='line'>A tiny spinning worm that wove the livelong day,—</div>
<div class='line'>Long after the glory had put her flag to mast—</div>
<div class='line'>And spun the thread I followed to the dell,</div>
<div class='line'>Where, in a gnarled old oak, I found a grub,</div>
<div class='line'>Who waited for the spinner’s strand</div>
<div class='line'>To draw him to the light.</div>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind!</div>
<div class='line'>I blew a beggar’s rags, and loving</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>Was the flapping of the cloth. And singing on</div>
<div class='line'>I went to blow a king’s mantle ’bout his limbs,</div>
<div class='line'>And cut me on the crusted gilt.</div>
<div class='line'>And tainted did I stain the rose until she turned</div>
<div class='line'>A snuffy brown and rested her poor head</div>
<div class='line'>Upon the rail along the path.</div>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind.</div>
<div class='line'>I blow me ’long the coast,</div>
<div class='line'>And steal from out the waves their roar;</div>
<div class='line'>And yet from out the riffles do I steal</div>
<div class='line'>The rustle of the leaves, who borrow of the riffle’s song</div>
<div class='line'>From me at summer-tide. And then</div>
<div class='line'>I pipe unto the sands, who dance and creep</div>
<div class='line'>Before me in the path. I blow the dead</div>
<div class='line'>And lifeless earth to dancing, tingling life,</div>
<div class='line'>And slap thee to awake at morn.</div>
<div class='line in4'>Whiff, sayeth the wind.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>There is a vivacity in this odd conceit that in
itself brings a smile, which is likely to broaden
at the irony in the suggestion of the wind cutting
itself on the crusted gilt of a king’s mantle.
Equally spirited in movement, but vastly different
in character, is the one which follows:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going?</div>
<div class='line'>Art dawdling time away adown the primrose path</div>
<div class='line'>And wishing golden dust to fancied value?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, catch the milch-dewed air, breathe deep</div>
<div class='line'>The clover-scented breath across the field,</div>
<div class='line'>And feed upon sweet-rooted grasses</div>
<div class='line'>Thou hast idly plucked.</div>
<div class='line'>Come, Brother, then let’s on together.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going?</div>
<div class='line'>Is here thy path adown the hard-flagged pave,</div>
<div class='line'>Where, bowed, the workers blindly shuffle on;</div>
<div class='line'>And dumbly stand in gullies bound,</div>
<div class='line'>The worn, bedogged, silent-suffering beast,</div>
<div class='line'>Far driven past his due?</div>
<div class='line'>And thou, beloved, hast thy burden worn thee weary?</div>
<div class='line'>Come, Brother, then let’s on together.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going?</div>
<div class='line'>Hast thou begun the tottering of age,</div>
<div class='line'>And doth the day seem over-long to thee?</div>
<div class='line'>Art fretting for release, and dost thou lack</div>
<div class='line'>The power to weave anew life’s tangled skein?</div>
<div class='line'>Come, Brother, then let’s on together.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>The second line of this will at once recall
Shakespeare’s “primrose path of dalliance,”
and it is one of the rare instances in which
<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>Patience may be said to have borrowed a metaphor;
but in the line which follows, “and wishing
golden dust to fancied value,” she puts the
figure to better use than he in whom it originated.
Beyond this line there is nothing specially
remarkable in this poem, and it is given
mainly to show the versatility of the composer,
and as another example of her ability to
present vivid and striking pictures.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>Reference has been made to the love of
nature and the knowledge of nature betrayed
in these poems. Even in those of the most
spiritual character nature is drawn upon for
illustrations and symbols, and the lines are
lavishly strewn with material metaphor and
similes that open up the gates of understanding.
This picture of winter, for example,
brings out the landscape it describes with the
vividness and reality of a stereoscope, and yet
it is something more than a picture:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Snow tweaketh ’neath thy feet,</div>
<div class='line'>And like a wandering painter stalketh Frost,</div>
<div class='line'>Daubing leaf and lichen. Where flowed a cataract</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>And mist-fogged stream, lies silvered sheen,</div>
<div class='line'>Stark, dead and motionless. I hearken</div>
<div class='line'>But to hear the she-e-e-e of warning wind,</div>
<div class='line'>Fearful lest I waken Nature’s sleeping.</div>
<div class='line'>Await ye! Like a falcon loosed</div>
<div class='line'>Cometh the awakening. Then returneth Spring</div>
<div class='line'>To nestle in the curving breast of yonder hill,</div>
<div class='line'>And sets to rest like the falcon seeketh</div>
<div class='line'>His lady’s outstretched arm.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>And here is another picture of winter,
painted with a larger brush and heavier pigment,
but expressing the same thought, that
life doth ever follow death:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Dead, all dead!</div>
<div class='line'>The earth, the fields, lie stretched in sleep</div>
<div class='line'>Like weary toilers overdone.</div>
<div class='line'>The valleys gape like toothless age,</div>
<div class='line'>Besnaggled by dead trees.</div>
<div class='line'>The hills, like boney jaws whose flesh hath dropped,</div>
<div class='line'>Stand grinning at the deathy day.</div>
<div class='line'>The lily, too, hath cast her shroud</div>
<div class='line'>And clothed her as a brown-robed nun.</div>
<div class='line'>The moon doth, at the even’s creep,</div>
<div class='line'>Reach forth her whitened hands and sooth</div>
<div class='line'>The wrinkled brow of earth to sleep.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>Ah, whither flown the fleecy summer clouds,</div>
<div class='line'>To bank, and fall to earth in billowed light,</div>
<div class='line'>And paint the winter’s brown to spangled white?</div>
<div class='line'>Where, too, have flown the happy songs,</div>
<div class='line'>Long died away with sighing</div>
<div class='line'>On the shore-wave’s crest?</div>
<div class='line'>Will they take Echo as their Guide,</div>
<div class='line'>And bound from hill to hill at this,</div>
<div class='line'>The sleepy time of earth,</div>
<div class='line'>And waken forest song ’mid naked waste?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, slumber, slumber, slumber on.</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis with a loving hand He scattereth the snow,</div>
<div class='line'>To nestle young spring’s offering,</div>
<div class='line'>That dying Earth shall live anew.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>How different this from Thomson’s pessimistic,</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Dread winter spreads his latest glooms</div>
<div class='line'>And reigns tremendous o’er the conquered year.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This poem seemed to present unusual difficulties
to Patience. The words came slowly
and haltingly, and the indications of composition
were more marked than in any other of
her poems. The third line was first dictated
“Like weary workmen overdone,” and then
<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>changed to “weary toilers,” and the eighteenth
line was given: “On the shore-wavelet’s
breast,” and afterwards altered to read “the
shorewave’s crest.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Possibly it was because the poet has not the
same zest in painting pictures of winter that
she has in depicting scenes of kindlier seasons,
in which she is in accord with nearly all poets,
and, for that matter, with nearly all people.
Her pen, if one may use the word, is speediest
and surest when she presents the beautiful,
whether it be the material or the spiritual. She
expresses this feeling herself with beauty of
phrase and rhythm in this verse, which may be
entitled “The Voice of Spring.”</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The streamlet under fernbanked brink</div>
<div class='line'>Doth laugh to feel the tickle of the waving mass;</div>
<div class='line'>And silver-rippled echo soundeth</div>
<div class='line'>Under over-hanging cliff.</div>
<div class='line'>The robin heareth it at morn</div>
<div class='line'>And steals its chatter for his song.</div>
<div class='line'>And oft at quiet-sleeping</div>
<div class='line'>Of the Spring’s bright day,</div>
<div class='line'>I wander me to dream along the brooklet’s bank,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>And hark me to a song of her dead voice,</div>
<div class='line'>That lieth where the snowflakes vanish</div>
<div class='line'>On the molten silver of the brooklet’s breast;</div>
<div class='line'>And watch the stream,</div>
<div class='line'>Who, over-fearful lest she lose the right</div>
<div class='line'>To ripple to the chord of Spring’s full harmony,</div>
<div class='line'>Doth harden at her heart</div>
<div class='line'>And catch the song a prisoner to herself;</div>
<div class='line'>To loosen only at the wooing kiss</div>
<div class='line'>Of youthful Winter’s sun,</div>
<div class='line'>And fill the barren waste with phantom spring.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Or, passing on to autumn, consider this
apostrophe to a fallen leaf:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, paled and faded leaf of spring agone,</div>
<div class='line'>Whither goest thou? Art speeding</div>
<div class='line'>To another land upon the brooklet’s breast?</div>
<div class='line'>Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge</div>
<div class='line'>Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave,</div>
<div class='line'>Die of too much love?</div>
<div class='line'>Thou’lt find a resting place amid the moss,</div>
<div class='line'>And, ah, who knows! The royal gem</div>
<div class='line'>May be thine own love’s offering.</div>
<div class='line'>Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page,</div>
<div class='line'>And mould among thy sisters, ere the sun</div>
<div class='line'>May peep within the pack?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>Or will the robin nest with thee</div>
<div class='line'>At Spring’s awakening? The romping brook</div>
<div class='line'>Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on.</div>
<div class='line'>And shouldst thou be impaled</div>
<div class='line'>Upon a thorny branch, what then?</div>
<div class='line'>Try not a flight. Thy sisters call thee.</div>
<div class='line'>Could crocus spring from frost,</div>
<div class='line'>And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, speed not, for God hath not</div>
<div class='line'>A mast for thee provided.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Autumn, too, is the theme of this:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>She-e-e! She-e-e! She-e-e-e!</div>
<div class='line'>The soughing wind doth breathe.</div>
<div class='line'>The white-crest cloud hath drabbed</div>
<div class='line'>At season’s late. The trees drip leaf-waste</div>
<div class='line'>Unto the o’erloved blades aneath,</div>
<div class='line'>Who burned o’ love, to die.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>’Tis the parting o’ the season.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and earth doth weep. The mellow moon</div>
<div class='line'>Stands high o’er golded grain. The cot-smoke</div>
<div class='line'>Curleth like to a loving arm</div>
<div class='line'>That reacheth up unto the sky.</div>
<div class='line'>The grain ears ope, to grin unto the day.</div>
<div class='line'>The stream hath laden with a pack o’ leaves</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>To bear unto the dell, where bloom</div>
<div class='line'>Doth hide in waiting for her pack.</div>
<div class='line'>The stars do glitter cold, and dance to warm them</div>
<div class='line'>There upon the sky’s blue carpet o’er the earth.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>’Tis season’s parting.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and earth doth weep. The Winter cometh,</div>
<div class='line'>And he bears her jewels for the decking</div>
<div class='line'>Of his bride. A glittered crown</div>
<div class='line'>Shall fall ’pon earth, and sparkled drop</div>
<div class='line'>Shall stand like gem that flasheth</div>
<div class='line'>’Pon a nobled brow. Yea, the tears</div>
<div class='line'>Of earth shall freeze and drop</div>
<div class='line'>As pearls, the necklace o’ the earth.</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis season’s parting. Yea,</div>
<div class='line'>And earth doth weep.</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis Fall.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>She does not confine herself to the Seasons
in her tributes to the divisions of time. There
are many poems which have the day for their
subject, all expressive of delight in every
aspect of the changing hours. There is a pæan
to the day in this:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The Morn awoke from off her couch of fleece,</div>
<div class='line'>And cast her youth-dampt breath to sweet the Earth.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>The birds sent carol up to climb the vasts.</div>
<div class='line'>The sleep-stopped Earth awaked in murmuring.</div>
<div class='line'>The dark-winged Night flew past the Day</div>
<div class='line'>Who trod his gleaming upward way.</div>
<div class='line'>The fields folk musicked at the sun’s warm ray.</div>
<div class='line'>Web-strewn, the sod, hung o’er o’ rainbow gleam.</div>
<div class='line'>The brook, untiring, ever singeth on.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The Day hath broke, and busy Earth</div>
<div class='line'>Hath set upon the path o’ hours.</div>
<div class='line'>Mute Night hath spread her darksome wing</div>
<div class='line'>And loosed the brood of dreams,</div>
<div class='line'>And Day hath set the downy mites to flight.</div>
<div class='line'>Fling forth thy dreaming hours! Awake from dark!</div>
<div class='line'>And hark! And hark! The Earth doth ring in song!</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis Day! ’Tis Day! ’Tis Day!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>The close observer will notice in all of these
poems that there is nothing hackneyed. The
themes, the thoughts, the images, the phrasing,
are almost if not altogether unique. The verse
which follows is, I am inclined to believe, absolutely
so:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Go to the builder of all dreams</div>
<div class='line'>And beg thy timbers to cast thee one.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>Ah, Builder, let me wander in this land</div>
<div class='line'>Of softened shapes to choose. My hand doth reach</div>
<div class='line'>To catch the mantle cast by lilies whom the sun</div>
<div class='line'>Hath loved too well. And at this morrow</div>
<div class='line'>Saw I not a purple wing of night</div>
<div class='line'>To fold itself and bask in morning light?</div>
<div class='line'>I watched her steal straight to the sun’s</div>
<div class='line'>Bedazzled heart. I claim her purpled gold.</div>
<div class='line'>And watched I not, at twi-hours creep,</div>
<div class='line'>A heron’s blue wing skim across the pond,</div>
<div class='line'>Where gulf clouds fleeted in a fleecy herd,</div>
<div class='line'>Reflected fair? I claim the blue and let</div>
<div class='line'>My heart to gambol with the sky-herd there.</div>
<div class='line'>At midday did I not then find</div>
<div class='line'>A rod of gold, and sun’s flowers,</div>
<div class='line'>Bounded in by wheat’s betasseled stalks?</div>
<div class='line'>I claim the gold as mine, to cast my dream.</div>
<div class='line'>And then at stormtide did I catch the sun,</div>
<div class='line'>Becrimsoned in his anger; and from his height</div>
<div class='line'>Did he not bathe the treetops in his gore?</div>
<div class='line'>The red is mine. I weave my dream and find</div>
<div class='line'>The rainbow, and the rainbow’s end—a nothingness.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Almost equally weird is this “Birth of a
Song”:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I builded me a harp,</div>
<div class='line'>And set asearch for strings.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>Ah, and Folly set me ’pon a track</div>
<div class='line'>That set the music at a wail;</div>
<div class='line'>For I did string the harp</div>
<div class='line'>With silvered moon-threads;</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and dead the notes did sound.</div>
<div class='line'>And I did string it then</div>
<div class='line'>With golden sun’s-threads,</div>
<div class='line'>And Passion killed the song.</div>
<div class='line in2'>Then did I to string it o’er—</div>
<div class='line'>And ’twer a jeweled string—</div>
<div class='line'>A chain o’ stars, and lo,</div>
<div class='line'>They laughed, and sorry wert the song.</div>
<div class='line'>And I did strip the harp and cast</div>
<div class='line'>The stars to merry o’er the Night;</div>
<div class='line'>And string anew, and set athrob a string</div>
<div class='line'>Abuilded of a lover’s note, and lo,</div>
<div class='line'>The song did sick and die,</div>
<div class='line'>And crumbled to a sweeted dust,</div>
<div class='line'>And blew unto the day.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Anew did I to string,</div>
<div class='line'>Astring with wail o’ babe,</div>
<div class='line'>And Earth loved not the song.</div>
<div class='line'>I felled asorrowed at the task,</div>
<div class='line'>And still the Harp wert mute.</div>
<div class='line'>So did I to pluck out my heart,</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, it throbbed and sung,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>And at the hurt o’ loosing o’ the heart</div>
<div class='line'>A song wert born.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>That, however, is but a pretty play of fancy
upon things within our ken, however shadowy
and evanescent she may make them by her
touch. But in the poem which follows she
touches on the border of a land we know not:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I’d greet thee, loves of yester’s day.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d call thee out from There.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d sup the joys of yonder realm.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d list unto the songs of them</div>
<div class='line'>Who days of me know not.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d call unto this hour</div>
<div class='line'>The lost of joys and woes.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d seek me out the sorries</div>
<div class='line'>That traced the seaming of thy cheek,</div>
<div class='line'>O thou of yester’s day!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I’d read the hearts astopped,</div>
<div class='line'>That Earth might know the price</div>
<div class='line'>They paid as toll.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d love their loves, I’d hate their hates,</div>
<div class='line'>I’d sup the cups of them;</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, I’d bathe me in the sweetness</div>
<div class='line'>Shed by youth of yester’s day.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>Yea, of these I’d weave the Earth a cloak—</div>
<div class='line'>But ah, He wove afirst!</div>
<div class='line'>They cling like petal mold, and sweet the Earth.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, the Earth lies wrapped</div>
<div class='line'>Within the holy of its ghost.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>“’Tis but a drip o’ loving,” she said when
she had finished this.</p>
<p class='c007'>Nearly every English poet has a tribute to
the Skylark, but I doubt if there are many
more exquisite than this:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I tuned my song to love and hate and pain</div>
<div class='line'>And scorn, and wrung from passion’s heat the flame,</div>
<div class='line'>And found the song a wailing waste of voice.</div>
<div class='line'>My song but reached the earth and echoed o’er its plains.</div>
<div class='line'>I sought for one who sang a wordless lay,</div>
<div class='line'>And up from ’mong the rushes soared a lark.</div>
<div class='line'>Hark to his song!</div>
<div class='line'>From sunlight came his gladdening note.</div>
<div class='line'>And ah, his trill—the raindrops’ patter!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And think ye that the thief would steal</div>
<div class='line'>The rustle of the leaves, or yet</div>
<div class='line'>The chilling chatter of the brooklet’s song?</div>
<div class='line'>Not claiming as his own the carol of my heart,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>Or listening to my plaint, he sings amid the clouds;</div>
<div class='line'>And through the downward cadence I but hear</div>
<div class='line'>The murmurings of the day.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>One naturally thinks of Shelley’s “Skylark”
when reading this, and there are some
passages in that celebrated poem that show a
similarity of metaphor, such as this:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Sounds of vernal showers</div>
<div class='line'>On the twinkling grass;</div>
<div class='line'>Rain-awakened flowers;</div>
<div class='line'>All that ever was</div>
<div class='line'>Joyous and clear and fresh</div>
<div class='line'>Thy music doth surpass.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>And there is something of the same thought
in the lines of Edmund Burke:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O lark! with thee to greatly rise,</div>
<div class='line'>T’ exalt my soul and lift it to the skies;</div>
<div class='line'>To make each worldly joy as mean appear,</div>
<div class='line'>Unworthy care when heavenly joys are near.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>But Patience nowhere belittles earthly joys
that are not evil in themselves; nor does she
<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>teach that all earthly passions are inherently
wrong: for earthly love is the theme of many
of her verses.</p>
<p class='c007'>Her expressions of scorn are sometimes
powerful in their vehemence. This, on “War,”
for example:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>Ah, thinkest thou to trick?</div>
<div class='line'>I fain would peep beneath the visor.</div>
<div class='line'>A god of war, indeed! Thou liest!</div>
<div class='line'>A masquerading fiend,</div>
<div class='line'>The harlot of the universe—</div>
<div class='line'>War, whose lips, becrimsoned in her lover’s blood,</div>
<div class='line'>Smile only to his death-damped eyes!</div>
<div class='line'>I challenge thee to throw thy coat of mail!</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, God! Look thou beneath!</div>
<div class='line'>Behold, those arms outstretched!</div>
<div class='line'>That raiment over-spangled with a leaden rain!</div>
<div class='line'>O, Lover, trust her not!</div>
<div class='line'>She biddeth thee in siren song,</div>
<div class='line'>And clotheth in a silken rag her treachery,</div>
<div class='line'>To mock thee and to wreak</div>
<div class='line'>Her vengeance at thy hearth.</div>
<div class='line'>Cast up the visor’s skirt!</div>
<div class='line'>Thou’lt see the snakey strands.</div>
<div class='line'>A god of war, indeed! I brand ye as a lie!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>Such outbreaks as this are rare in her
poetry, but in her conversation she occasionally
gives expression to anger or scorn or contempt,
though, as stated, she seldom dignifies
such emotions in verse. Love, as I have said,
is her favorite theme in numbers, the love of
God first and far foremost, and after that
brother love and mother love. To the love of
man for woman, or woman for man, there is
seldom a reference in her poems, although it
is the theme of some of her dramatic works.
There is an exquisite expression of mother
love in the spinning wheel lullaby already
given, but for rapturous glorification of infancy,
it would be difficult to surpass this,
which does not reveal its purport until the last
line:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, greet the day, which, like a golden butterfly,</div>
<div class='line'>Hovereth ’twixt the night and morn;</div>
<div class='line'>And welcome her fullness—the hours</div>
<div class='line'>’Mid shadow and those the rose shall grace.</div>
<div class='line'>Hast thou among her hours thy heart’s</div>
<div class='line'>Desire and dearest? Name thou then of all</div>
<div class='line'>His beauteous gifts thy greatest treasure.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>The morning, cool and damp, dark-shadowed</div>
<div class='line'>By the frowning sun—is this thy chosen?</div>
<div class='line'>The midday, flaming as a sword,</div>
<div class='line'>Deep-stained by noon’s becrimsoned light—</div>
<div class='line'>Is this thy chosen? Or misty startide,</div>
<div class='line'>Woven like a spinner’s web and jeweled</div>
<div class='line'>By the climbing moon—is this thy chosen?</div>
<div class='line'>Doth forest shade, or shimmering stream,</div>
<div class='line'>Or wild bird song, or cooing of the nesting dove,</div>
<div class='line'>Bespeak thy chosen? He who sendeth light</div>
<div class='line'>Sendeth all to thee, pledges of a bonded love.</div>
<div class='line'>And ye who know Him not, look ye!</div>
<div class='line'>From all His gifts He pilfered that which made it His</div>
<div class='line'>To add His fullest offering of love.</div>
<div class='line'>From out the morning, at the earliest tide,</div>
<div class='line'>He plucked two lingering stars, who tarried</div>
<div class='line'>Lest the dark should sorrow. And when the day was born,</div>
<div class='line'>The glow of sun-flush, veiled by gossamer cloud</div>
<div class='line'>And tinted soft by lingering night;</div>
<div class='line'>And rose petals, scattered by a loving breeze;</div>
<div class='line'>The lily’s satin cheek, and dove cooes,</div>
<div class='line'>And wild bird song, and Death himself</div>
<div class='line'>Is called to offer of himself;</div>
<div class='line'>And soft as willow buds may be,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>He claimeth but the down to fashion this, thy gift,</div>
<div class='line'>The essence of His love, thine own first-born.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>In brief, the babe concentrates within itself
all the beauties and all the wonders of nature.
Its eyes, “two lingering stars who tarried lest
the dark should sorrow,” and in its face “the
glow of sun flush veiled by gossamer cloud,”
“rose petals” and the “lily’s satin cheek”;
its voice the dove’s coo. “From all His gifts
He pilfered that which made it His”—the
divine essence—“to add His fullest offering
of love.” This is the idealism of true poetry,
and what mother looking at her own firstborn
will say that it is overdrawn?</p>
<p class='c007'>So much for mother-love. Of her lines on
brotherhood I have already given example.
In only a few verses, as I have said, does Patience
speak of love between man and woman.
The poem which follows is perhaps the most
eloquent of these:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>’Tis mine, this gift, ah, mine alone,</div>
<div class='line'>To paint the leaden sky to lilac-rose,</div>
<div class='line'>Or coax the sullen sun to flash,</div>
<div class='line'>Or carve from granite gray a flaming knight,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>Or weave the twilight hours with garlands gay,</div>
<div class='line'>Or wake the morning with my soul’s glad song,</div>
<div class='line'>Or at my bitterest drink a sweetness cast,</div>
<div class='line'>Or gather from my loneliness the flower—</div>
<div class='line'>A dream amid a mist of tears.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, treasure mine, this do I pledge to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>That none may peer within thy land; and only</div>
<div class='line'>When the moon shines white shall I disclose thee;</div>
<div class='line'>Lest, straying, thou should’st fade; and in the blackness</div>
<div class='line'>Of the midnight shall I fondle thee,</div>
<div class='line'>Afraid to show thee to the day.</div>
<div class='line'>When I shall give to Him, the giver,</div>
<div class='line'>All my treasure’s stores, and darkness creeps upon me,</div>
<div class='line'>Then will I for this return a thank,</div>
<div class='line'>And show thee to the world.</div>
<div class='line'>Blind are they to thee, but ah, the darkness</div>
<div class='line'>Is illumined; and lo! thy name is burned</div>
<div class='line'>Like flaming torch to light me on my way.</div>
<div class='line'>Then from thy wrapping of love I pluck</div>
<div class='line'>My dearest gift, the memory of my dearest love.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, memory, thou painter,</div>
<div class='line'>Who from cloud canst fashion her dear form,</div>
<div class='line'>Or from a stone canst turn her smile,</div>
<div class='line'>Or fill my loneliness with her dear voice,</div>
<div class='line'>Or weave a loving garland for her hair—</div>
<div class='line'>Thou art my gift of God, to be my comrade here.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>Next to such love as this comes friendship,
and she has put an estimate of the value of a
friend in these words:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Of Earth there be this store of joys and woes.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and they do make the days o’ me.</div>
<div class='line'>I sit me here adream that did I hold</div>
<div class='line'>From out the whole, but one, my dearest gift,</div>
<div class='line'>What then would it to be? Doth days and nights</div>
<div class='line'>Of bright and dark make this my store?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay. Do happy hours and woes-tide, then,</div>
<div class='line'>Beset this day of me and make the thing I’d keep?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay. Doth metal store and jewelled string</div>
<div class='line'>Then be aworth to me? Nay. I set me here,</div>
<div class='line'>And dreaming, fall to reasoning for this,</div>
<div class='line'>That I would keep, if but one gift wert mine</div>
<div class='line'>Must hold the store o’ all. Yea, must hold</div>
<div class='line'>The dark for light, yea, and hold the light for dark,</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and hold the sweet for sours, aye, and hold</div>
<div class='line'>The love for Hate. Yea, then, where may I to turn?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And lo, as I adreaming sat</div>
<div class='line'>A voice spaked out to me: What ho! What ho!</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, the voice of one, a friend!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>This, then, shall be my treasure,</div>
<div class='line'>And the Earth part I shall hold</div>
<div class='line'>From out all gifts of Him.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>Love of God, and God’s love for us, and the
certainty of life after death as a consequence
of that love, are the themes of Patience’s finest
poetry, consideration of which is reserved for
succeeding chapters. Yet a taste of this devotional
poetry will not be amiss at this point
in the presentation of her works, as an indication
of the character of that which is to come.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Lo, ’pon a day there bloomed a bud,</div>
<div class='line'>And swayed it at adance ’pon sweeted airs.</div>
<div class='line'>And gardens oped their greenéd breast</div>
<div class='line'>To shew to Earth o’ such an one.</div>
<div class='line'>And soft the morn did woo its bloom;</div>
<div class='line'>And nights wept ’pon its cheek,</div>
<div class='line'>And mosses crept them ’bout the stem,</div>
<div class='line'>That sun not scoarch where it had sprung.</div>
<div class='line in2'>And lo, the garden sprite, a maid,</div>
<div class='line'>Who came aseek at every day,</div>
<div class='line'>And kissed the bud, and cast o’ drops</div>
<div class='line'>To cool the warm sun’s rays.</div>
<div class='line'>And bud did hang it swaying there,</div>
<div class='line'>And love lept from the maiden’s breast.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And days wore on; and nights did wrap</div>
<div class='line'>The bud to wait the morn;</div>
<div class='line'>And maid aseeked the spot.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>When, lo, there came a Stranger</div>
<div class='line'>To the garden’s wall,</div>
<div class='line'>Who knocked Him there</div>
<div class='line'>And bid the maiden come.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And up unto her heart she pressed her hand,</div>
<div class='line'>And reached it forth to stay the bud’s soft sway,</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, the sun hung dark,</div>
<div class='line'>And Stranger knocked Him there.</div>
<div class='line'>And ’twere the maid did step most regal to the place.</div>
<div class='line'>And harked, and lo, His voice aspoke.</div>
<div class='line'>And she looked upon His face,</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, ’twere sorry sore, and sad!</div>
<div class='line'>And soft there came His word</div>
<div class='line'>Of pleading unto her:</div>
<div class='line'>“O’ thy garden’s store do offer unto me.”</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, the maid did turn and seek her out the bud,</div>
<div class='line'>And pluck it that she bear it unto Him.</div>
<div class='line'>And at the garden’s ope He stood and waited her.</div>
<div class='line'>And forth her hand she held, therein the bud,</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, He took therefrom the bloom</div>
<div class='line'>And left the garden bare,</div>
<div class='line'>And maid did stand astripped</div>
<div class='line'>Of heart’s sun ’mid her garden’s bloom.</div>
<div class='line'>When lo, athin the wound there sunk</div>
<div class='line'>A warmpth that filled it up with love.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, ’twere the smile o’ Him, the price.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>But she has given another form of poem
which should be presented before this brief review
of her more material verse is concluded,
and it is a form one would hardly expect from
such a source. I refer to the “poem of occasion.”
A few days before Christmas, Mrs.
Curran remarked as she sat at the board: “I
wonder if Patience wouldn’t give us a Christmas
poem.” And without a moment’s hesitation
she did. Here it is:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I hied me to the glen and dell,</div>
<div class='line'>And o’er the heights, afar and near,</div>
<div class='line'>To find the Yule sprite’s haunt.</div>
<div class='line'>I dreamt me it did bide</div>
<div class='line'>Where mistletoe doth bead;</div>
<div class='line'>And found an oak whose boughs</div>
<div class='line'>Hung clustered with its borrowed loveliness.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, could such a one as she</div>
<div class='line'>Abide her in this chill?</div>
<div class='line'>For bleakness wraps the oak about</div>
<div class='line'>And crackles o’er her dancing branch.</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, her very warmth</div>
<div class='line'>Would surely thaw away the icy shroud,</div>
<div class='line'>And mistletoe would die</div>
<div class='line'>Adreaming it was spring.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>I hied me to the holly tree</div>
<div class='line'>And made me sure to find her there.</div>
<div class='line'>But nay,</div>
<div class='line'>The thorny spines would prick her tenderness.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, where then doth she bide?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I asked the frost who stood</div>
<div class='line'>Upon the fringéd grasses ’neath the oak.</div>
<div class='line'>“I know her not, but I</div>
<div class='line'>Am ever bidden to her feast.</div>
<div class='line'>Ask thou the sparrow of the field.</div>
<div class='line'>He searcheth everywhere; perchance</div>
<div class='line'>He knoweth where she bides.”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Nay, I know her not,</div>
<div class='line'>But at her birthday’s tide</div>
<div class='line'>I find full many a crumb</div>
<div class='line'>Cast wide upon the snow.”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I found a chubby babe,</div>
<div class='line'>Who toddled o’er the ice, and whispered,</div>
<div class='line'>Did she know the Yule sprite’s haunt?</div>
<div class='line'>And she but turneth solemn eyes to me</div>
<div class='line'>And wags her golden head.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I flitted me from house to shack,</div>
<div class='line'>And ever missed the rogue;</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>But surely she had left her sign</div>
<div class='line'>To bid me on to search.</div>
<div class='line'>And I did weary of my task</div>
<div class='line'>And put my hopes to rest,</div>
<div class='line'>And slept me on the eve afore her birth,</div>
<div class='line'>Full sure to search anew at morn.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And then the morning broke;</div>
<div class='line'>And e’er mine eyes did ope,</div>
<div class='line'>I fancied me a scarlet sprite,</div>
<div class='line'>With wings of green and scepter of a mistletoe,</div>
<div class='line'>Did bid me wake, and whispered me</div>
<div class='line'>To look me to my heart.</div>
<div class='line'>Soft-nestled, warm, I found her resting there.</div>
<div class='line'>Guard me lest I tell;</div>
<div class='line'>But, heart o’erfull of loving,</div>
<div class='line'>Thee’lt surely spill good cheer!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>The following week, without request, she
gave this New Year’s poem, remarkable for
the novelty of its treatment of a much worn
theme:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The year hath sickened;</div>
<div class='line'>And dawning day doth show his withering;</div>
<div class='line'>And Death hath crept him closer on each hour.</div>
<div class='line'>The crying hemlock shaketh in its grief.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>The smiling spring hath hollowed it to age,</div>
<div class='line'>And golden grain-stalks fallen</div>
<div class='line'>O’er the naked breast of earth.</div>
<div class='line'>The year’s own golden locks</div>
<div class='line'>Have fallen, too, or whitened,</div>
<div class='line'>Where they still do hold.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And do I sorrow me?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, I do speed him on,</div>
<div class='line'>For precious pack he beareth</div>
<div class='line'>To the land of passing dreams.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I’ve bundled pain and wishing</div>
<div class='line'>’Round with deeds undone,</div>
<div class='line'>And packed the loving o’ my heart</div>
<div class='line'>With softness of thine own;</div>
<div class='line'>And plied his pack anew</div>
<div class='line'>With loss and gain, to add</div>
<div class='line'>The cup of bitter tears I shed</div>
<div class='line'>O’er nothings as I passed.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Old year and older years—</div>
<div class='line'>My friends, my comrades on the road below—</div>
<div class='line'>I fain would greet ye now,</div>
<div class='line'>And bid ye Godspeed on your ways.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I watch ye pass, and read</div>
<div class='line'>The aged visages of each.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>I love ye well, and count ye o’er</div>
<div class='line'>In fearing lest I lose e’en one of you.</div>
<div class='line'>And here the brother of you, every one,</div>
<div class='line'>Lies smitten!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>But as dear I’ll love him</div>
<div class='line'>When the winter’s moon doth sink;</div>
<div class='line'>And like the watery eye of age</div>
<div class='line'>Doth close at ending of his day.</div>
<div class='line'>And I shall flit me through his dreams</div>
<div class='line'>And cheer him with my loving;</div>
<div class='line'>And last within the pack shall put</div>
<div class='line'>A Hope and speed him thence.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And bow me to the New.</div>
<div class='line'>A friend mayhap, but still untried.</div>
<div class='line'>And true, ye say?</div>
<div class='line'>But ne’er hath proven so!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Old year, I love thee well,</div>
<div class='line'>And bid thee farewell with a sigh.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>One who reads these poems with thoughtfulness
must be impressed by a number of attributes
which make them notable, and, in some
respects, wholly unique. First of all is the
absence of conventionality, coupled with skill
<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>in construction, in phrasing, in the compounding
of words, in the application to old words of
new or unusual but always logical meanings, in
the maintenance of rhythm without monotony.
Next is the absolute purity, with the sometimes
archaic quality, of the English. It is the
language of Shakespeare, of Marlowe, of
Fletcher, of Jonson and Drayton, except that
it presents Saxon words or Saxon prefixes
which had already passed out of literary use in
their time, while on the other hand it avoids
nearly all the words derived directly from
other languages that were habitually used by
those great writers. There is rarely a word
that is not of Anglo-Saxon or Norman birth.
Nor are there any long words. All of these
compositions are in words of one, two and
three syllables, very seldom one of four—no
“multitudinous seas incarnadine.” Among
the hundreds of words of Patience Worth’s in
this chapter there are only two of four syllables
and less than fifty of three syllables. Fully
95 per cent of her works are in words of one
and two syllables. In what other writing, ancient
<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>or modern, the Bible excepted, can this
simplicity be found?</p>
<p class='c007'>But the most impressive attribute of these
poems is the weirdness of them, an intangible
quality that defies definition or location, but
which envelops and permeates all of them.
One may look in vain through the works of the
poets for anything with which to compare
them. They are alike in the essential features
of all poetry, and yet they are unalike. There
is something in them that is not in other
poetry. In the profusion of their metaphor
there is an etherealness that more closely resembles
Shelley, perhaps, than any other poet;
but the beauty of Shelley’s poems is almost
wholly in their diction: there is in him no profundity
of thought. In these poems there is
both beauty and depth—and something else.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>
<h2 class='c003'>THE PROSE</h2></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c019'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Word meeteth word, and at touch o’ me, doth</div>
<div class='line'>spell to thee.”—<span class='sc'>Patience Worth.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c004'>Strictly speaking, there is no prose in the
compositions of Patience Worth. That which
I have here classified as prose, lacks none of
the essential elements of poetry, except a continuity
of rhythm. The rhythm is there, the
iambic measure which she favors being fairly
constant, but it is broken by sentences and
groups of sentences that are not metrical, and
while it would not be difficult to arrange most
of this matter in verse form, I am inclined to
think that to the majority it will read smoother
and with greater ease as prose. Nevertheless,
as will be seen, it is poetry. The diction is
wholly of that order, and it is filled with strikingly
vivid and agreeable imagery. There is,
however, this distinction: most of the matter
<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>here classed as prose is dramatic in form and
treatment, and each composition tells a story—a
story with a definite and well-constructed
plot, dealing with real and strongly individualized
people, and mingling humor and
pathos with much effectiveness. They bring at
once a smile to the face and a tear to the eye.
They differ, too, from the poetry, in that they
have little or no apparent spiritual significance.
They are stories, beautiful stories, unlike
anything to be found in the literature of
any country or any time, but, except in the
shadowy figure of “The Stranger,” they do
not rise above the things of earth. That is not
to say, however, that they are not spiritual in
the intellectual or emotional sense of the word,
as distinguished from the soul relation.</p>
<p class='c007'>At the end of an evening a year and a half
after Patience began her work, she said: “Thy
hearth is bright. I fain would knit beside its
glow and spinn a wordy tale betimes.”</p>
<p class='c007'>At the next sitting she began the “wordy
tale.” Up to that time she had offered nothing
in prose form but short didactic pieces,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>such as will appear in subsequent chapters of
this book, and the circle was lost in astonishment
at the unfolding of this story, so different
in form and spirit from anything she had previously
given.</p>
<p class='c007'>Her stories are, as already stated, dramatic
in form. Indeed they are condensed dramas.
After a brief descriptive introduction or prologue,
all the rest is dialogue, and the scenes
are shifted without explanatory connection, as
in a play. In the story of “The Fool and the
Lady” which follows, the fool bids adieu to the
porter of the inn, and in the next line begins a
conversation with Lisa, whom he meets, as the
context shows, at some point on the road to the
tourney. It is the change from the first to
the second act or scene, but no stage directions
came from the board, no marks of division or
change of scene, nor names of persons speaking,
except as indicated in the context. In reproducing
these stories, no attempt has been
made to put them completely in the dramatic
form for which they were evidently designed,
the desire being to present them as nearly as
<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>possible as they were received; but to make
them clearer to the reader the characters are
identified, and shift of scene or time has been
indicated.</p>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>
<h3 class='c021'>THE FOOL AND THE LADY</h3></div>
<p class='c013'>And there it lay, asleep. A mantle, gray as
monk’s cloth, its covering. Dim-glowing
tapers shine like glowflies down the narrow
winding streets. The sounds of early morning
creep through the thickened veil of heavy
mist, like echoes of the day afore. The wind is
toying with the threading smoke, and still it
clingeth to the chimney pot.</p>
<p class='c007'>There stands, beyond the darkest shadow,
the Inn of Falcon Feather, her sides becracked
with sounding of the laughter of the king and
gentlefolk, who barter song and story for the
price of ale. Her windows sleep like heavy-lidded
eyes, and her breath doth reek with
wine, last drunk by a merry party there.</p>
<p class='c007'>The lamp, now blacked and dead, could
boast to ye of part to many an undoing of the
unwary. The roof, o’er-hanging and bepeaked,
doth ’mind ye of a sleeper in his cap.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>The mist now rises like a curtain, and over
yonder steeple peeps the sun, his face washed
fresh in the basin of the night. His beams now
light the dark beneath the palsied stair, and rag
and straw doth heave to belch forth its baggage
for the night.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “Eh, gad! ’Tis morn, Beppo.
Come, up, ye vermin; laugh and prove thou art
the fool’s. An ape and jackass are wearers of
the cap and bells. Thou wert fashioned with
a tail to wear behind, and I to spin a tale to
leave but not to wear. For the sayings of the
fool are purchased by the wise. My crooked
back and pegs are purses—the price to buy my
gown; but better far, Beppo, to hunch and yet
to peer into the clouds, than be as strong as
knights are wont to be, and belly, like a snake,
amongst the day’s bright hours.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Here, eat thy crust. ’Tis funny-bread, the
earnings of a fool.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I looked at Lisa as she rode her mount at
yesternoon, and saw her skirt the road with
anxious eyes. Dost know for whom she
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>sought, Beppo? Not me, who, breathless,
watched behind a flowering bush to hide my
ugliness. Now laugh, Beppo, and prove thou
art the fool’s!</p>
<p class='c007'>“But ’neath these stripes of color I did feel
new strength, and saw me strided on a black
beside her there. And, Beppo, knave, thou
didst but rattle at thy chain, and lo, the shrinking
of my dream!</p>
<p class='c007'>“But we do limp quite merrily, and could
we sing our song in truer measure—thou the
mimic, and I the fool? Thine eyes hold more
for me than all the world, since hers do see me
not.</p>
<p class='c007'>“We two together shall flatten ’neath the
tree in yonder field and ride the clouds, Beppo,
I promise ye, at after hour of noon.</p>
<p class='c007'>“See! Tonio has slid the shutter’s bolt!
I’ll spin a song and bart him for a sup.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>(<i>Tonio</i>) “So, baggage, thou hast slept
aneath the smell thou lovest best!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “Oh, morrow, Tonio. The smell
is weak as yester’s unsealed wine. My tank
<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>doth tickle with the dust of rust, and yet methinks
thou would’st see my slattern stays to
rattle like dry bones, to please thee. See,
Beppo cryeth! Fetch me then a cup that I
may catch the drops—or, here, I’ll milk the
dragon o’er thy door!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Tonio</i>) “Thou scrapple! Come within.
’Tis he who loveth not the fool who doth hate
his God.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “I’m loth to leave my chosen company.
Come, Beppo, his words are hard, but
we do know his heart.</p>
<p class='c007'>“A health to thee, Antonio. Put in thy
wine one taste of thy heart’s brew and I need
not wish ye well.</p>
<p class='c007'>“To her, Beppo. Come, dip and take a lick.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Tonio, hast heard that at a time not set
as yet the tournament will be? Who think
ye rides the King’s lance and weareth Lisa’s
colors? Blue, Tonio, and gold, the heavens’
garb—stop, Beppo, thou meddling pest!
Antonio, I swear those bits of cloth are but
patches I have pilfered from the ragheap
adown the alleyway. I knew not they were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>blue. And this is but a tassel dropt from off
a lance at yester’s ride. I knew not of its
tinselled glint, I swear!</p>
<p class='c007'>“So, thou dost laugh? Ah, Beppo, see, he
laughs! And we too, eh? But do we laugh
the same? Come, jump! Thy pulpit is my
hump. Aday, Antonio!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Antonio</i>) “Aday, thou fool, and would I
had the wisdom of thy ape.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>(<i>On the Road to the Tournament.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “Aday, fool!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “Ah, lady fair, hath lost the silver
of thy laugh, and dost thee wish me then to
fetch it thee?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “Yea, jester. Thou speaketh wisely;
for may I ripple laughter from a sorry
heart? Now tease me, then.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “A crooked laugh would be thy
gift should I tease it with a crooked tale; and,
lady, didst thee e’er behold a crooked laugh—one
which holds within its crook a tear?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “Oh, thou art in truth a fool. I’d
bend the crook and strike the tear away.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>(<i>Fool</i>) “Aye, lady, so thou wouldst. But
thou hast ne’er yet found thy lot to bear a
crook held staunch within His hand! Spring
rain would be thy tears—a balm to buy fresh
beauties. And the fool? Ah, his do dry in
dust, e’en before they fall!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “Pish, jester, thy tears would paint
thy face to crooked lines, and thee wouldst
laugh to see the muck. My heart doth truly
sorry. Hast heard the King hath promised me
as wages for the joust? And thee dost know
who rideth ’gainst my chosen?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “Aye, lady, the crones do wag, and
I do promise ye they wear their necks becricked
to see his palfrey pass. They do tell
me that his sumpter-cloth doth trail like a
ladies’ robe.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “Yea, fool, and pledge me thy
heart to tell it not, I did broider at its hem a
thrush with mine own tress—a song to cheer
his way, a wing to speed him on.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “Hear, Beppo, how she prates!
Would I were a posey wreath and Beppo here
<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>a fashioner of song. We then would lend us to
thy hand to offer as a token. But thou dost
know a fool and ape are ever but a fool and
ape. I’m off to chase thy truant laugh. Who
cometh there? The dust doth rise like storm-cloud
along the road ahead, and ’tis shot with
glinting. Oh, I see the mantling flush of
morning put to shame by the flushing of thy
cheek! See, he doth ride with helmet ope. Its
golden bars do clatter at the jolt, and—but
stop, Beppo, she heareth not! We, poor beggars,
thee and me—an ape with a tail and a
fool with a heart!</p>
<p class='c007'>“See, Beppo, I did tear a rose to tatters but
to fling its petals ’neath her feet. They tell me
that his lance doth bear a ribband blue and a
curling lock of gold—and yet he treads the
earth! Let’s then away!</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The world may sorrow</div>
<div class='line in6'>But the fool must laugh.</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis blessed grain</div>
<div class='line in6'>That hath no chaff.</div>
<div class='line'>To love an ape</div>
<div class='line in6'>Is but to ape at love.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>I sought a hand,</div>
<div class='line in6'>And found—a glove!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>“Beppo, laugh, and prove thyself the fool’s!
I fain would feel the yoke, lest I step too high.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Come, we’ll seek the shelt’ring tree. I’ve
in my kit a bit of curd. Thy conscience need
not prick. I swear that Tonio, the rogue, did
see me stow it there!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Ah, me, ’tis such a home for fools, the
earth. And they that are not fools are apes.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I see the crowd bestringing ’long the road,
and yonder clarion doth bid the riders come.
Well, Beppo, do we ride? Come, chere, we
may tramp our crooked path and ride astraddle
of a cloud.</p>
<p class='c007'>“She doth love him, then; and even now the
horn doth sound anew—and she the prize!</p>
<p class='c007'>“I call the God above to see the joke that
fate hath played; for I do swear, Beppo, that
when he rides he carries on his lance-point this
heart.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I fret me here, but dare I see the play?
Yea, ’tis a poor fool that loveth not his jest.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>“I go, Beppo; I know not why, save I do
love her so.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I’ll bear my hunch like a badge of His
colors and I shall laugh, Beppo, shall laugh at
losing. He loves me well, else why didst send
me thee?</p>
<p class='c007'>“The way seems over long.</p>
<p class='c007'>“They parry at the ring! I see her veil to
float like cloud upon the breeze.</p>
<p class='c007'>“She sees me not. I wonder that she heareth
not the thumping of my heart. My eyes do
mist. Beppo, look thou! Ah, God, to see
within her eyes the look of thine!</p>
<p class='c007'>“They rank! And hell would cool my brow,
I swear. Beppo, as thou lovest me, press
sorely on my hump! Her face, Beppo, it
swayeth everywhere, as a garden thick with
bloom—a lily, white and glistening with a rain
of tears. My heart hath torn asunder, that I
know.</p>
<p class='c007'>“The red knight now doth cast! O Heaven
turn his lance!</p>
<p class='c007'>“’Tis put!</p>
<p class='c007'>“And now the blue and gold! Wait,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>brother ape! Hold, in the name of God!
Straight! ’Tis tie! Can I but stand?</p>
<p class='c007'>“I—ah, lady, he doth ride full well. May I
but steady thee? My legs are wobbled but—my
hand, dear lady, lest ye sink.</p>
<p class='c007'>(”Beppo, ’tis true she seeth me!)</p>
<p class='c007'>“Thy hand is cold. I wager you he wins.
He puts a right too high. Thy thrush is singing;
hear ye not his song? His wing doth flutter
even now. Ah, he is fitting thee——</p>
<p class='c007'>“I do but laugh to feel the tickle of a feathering
jest. An age before he puts! A miss!
A tie! Ah, lady, should’st thee win I’ll laugh
anew and even then will laugh at what thee
knowest not.</p>
<p class='c007'>“The red knight! God weight his charger’s
hoof! (My God, Beppo, she did kiss my
hand!)</p>
<p class='c007'>“He’s off! Beppo, cling!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “The fool! Look ye, the fool and
ape! Oh heaven stop their flight! He’s well
upon them! Blind me, lest I die! He’s
charged anew, but missed! What, did his
mantle fall? That shape that lieth! Come!”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>(<i>Lisa, to her knight</i>) “So, thou, beloved,
didst win me right! Where go they with the
litter?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Knight</i>) “The fool, my lady, and a chattering
ape, did tempt to jest a charger in the
field. We found them so. He lives but
barely.”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>(<i>Enter Fool upon litter.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “Aday, my lady fair! And hast
thee lost the silver of thy laugh and bid me
fetch it thee? The world doth hold but fools
and lovers, folly sick.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lisa</i>) “His eye grows misty. Fool, I
know thee as a knave and love thee as a man.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Fool</i>) “’Tis but a patch, Beppo, a patch
and tassel from a lance ... but we did ride,
eh? Laugh, Beppo, and prove thou art the
fool’s! I laugh anew, lest my friends should
know me not. Beppo, I dream of new roads,
but thou art there! And I do faint, but
she ... did kiss my hand.... Aday ...
L—a—d—y.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>Very soon after the completion of this story
Patience began another one, a Christmas story,
a weird, mystical tale of medieval England,
having for its central theme a “Stranger” who
is visible only to Lady Marye of the Castle.
The stranger is not described, nor does he
speak a word, but he is presumedly the Christ.
There are descriptions of the preparations for
the Christmas feast at this lordly stronghold
of baronial days, and the coarse wit of the
castle servants and the drunken profanity of
their master, “John the Peaceful,” form a
vivid contrast to the ethereal Lady Marye and
the simple love of the herder’s family at the
foot of the hill. There are striking characters
and many beautiful lines in this story, but it is
not as closely woven nor as coherent in plot as
the story of the fool and the lady.</p>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>
<h3 class='c021'>THE STRANGER</h3></div>
<p class='c013'>’Twas at white season o’ the year, the
shrouding o’ spring and summerstide.</p>
<p class='c007'>Steep, rugged, was the path, and running
higher on ahead to turret-topped and gated
castle o’ the lordly state o’ John the Peaceful,
where Lady Marye whiled away the dragging
day at fingering the regal.<SPAN name='r2' /><SPAN href='#f2' class='c011'><sup>[2]</sup></SPAN></p>
<div class='footnote' id='f2'>
<p class='c007'><SPAN href='#r2'>2</SPAN>. Regal. A small portable pipe organ used in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It was played with one hand while the bellows was worked with the other.</p>
</div>
<p class='c013'>From sheltered niche she looked adown the
hillside stretching ’neath. The valley was bestir.
A shepherd chided with gentle word his
flock, and gentle folk did speak o’ coming
Christ-time. Timon, the herder’s hut, already
hung with bitter sweets, and holly and fir
boughs set to spice the air.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>“Timon, man, look ye to the wee lambs well,
for winter promiseth a searching night.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>Thus spake Leta, who stands, her babe
astride her hip.</p>
<p class='c007'>“And come ye then within. I have a brew
that of a truth shall tickle at thy funny bone.
Bring then a bundle o’ brush weed that we
may ply the fire. I vow me thy boots are snow
carts, verily!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Hast seen the castle folk? And fetched ye
them the kids? They breathe it here that the
boar they roast would shame a heiffer. All of
the sparing hours today our Leta did sniff her
up the hill; nay, since the dawning she hath
spread her smock and smirked.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Leta, thou art such a joy! Thou canst
wish the winter-painted bough to bloom, and
like the plum flowers falls the snow. Fetch
thee a bowl and put the bench to table-side.
Thy sire wouldst sup. Go now and watch
aside the crib. Perchance thee’lt catch a
glimpse o’ heaven spilled from Tina’s dream.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Timon, man, tell me now the doings o’ the
day. I do ettle<SPAN name='r3' /><SPAN href='#f3' class='c011'><sup>[3]</sup></SPAN> for a spicey tale.”</p>
<div class='footnote' id='f3'>
<p class='c007'><SPAN href='#r3'>3</SPAN>. Ettle. In this case, to have a strong desire.</p>
</div>
<p class='c013'>(<i>Timon</i>) “Well, be it so then, minx. I did
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>fell the kids at sun-wake, and thee’lt find the
skins aneath the cape I cast in yonder corner
there. And I did catch a peep aslaunch<SPAN name='r4' /><SPAN href='#f4' class='c011'><sup>[4]</sup></SPAN> at
mad Lady Marye, who did play the pipes most
mournfully. They tell me she doth look a
straining to this cot of ours. And what think
ye, Leta? She doth only smile when she doth
see our wee one’s curls to glint. And ever she
doth speak of him who none hath seen. ’Tis
strange, think ye not?”</p>
<div class='footnote' id='f4'>
<p class='c007'><SPAN href='#r4'>4</SPAN>. Aslaunch. Aslant or obliquely. As we would now say, “Out
of the corner of the eye.”</p>
</div>
<p class='c013'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Nay, Timon, I full oft do pause
and peer on high to see her at the summertide.
Like a swan she bendeth, all white, amid her
garden ’long the lake, and even ’tempts to
come adown the path to us below. And ever
at her heels the pea-fowl struts.</p>
<p class='c007'>“She ne’er doth see my beckoning, but do
I come with Tina at my breast she doth smile
and wave and sway her arms a-cradle-wise.</p>
<p class='c007'>“They tell, but breathlessly, that she doth
sadly say the Stranger bideth here.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Timon</i>) “I’ll pit my patch ’gainst purse
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>o’ gold, that ‘Mad Marye’ fitteth her as surely
as ‘Peaceful John’ doth fit her sire. Thee
knowest ’peace’ to him is of his cutting, and
’piece’ doth patch his ripping.</p>
<p class='c007'>“They’ve bid a feast at Christ-night, and ye
shouldst see the stir! I fain would see Sir
John at good dark on that eve, besmeared with
boar grease and soaked with ale, his mouth
adrip with filth, and every peasant there who
serves his bolts shall hit. And Lady Marye
setteth like a lily under frost!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Leta, little one, thine eyes do blink like
stars beshadowed in a cloudy veil. Come,
bend thy knee and slip away to dream!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Little Leta prays</i>) “Vast blue above,
wherein the angels hide; and moon, his lamp o’
love; and cloud fleece white—art thou the wool
to swaddle Him? And doth His mother bide
upon a star-beam that leadeth her to thee? I
bless Thy name and pray Thee keep my sire to
watch full well his flock. And put a song in
every coming day; my Tina’s coo, and mother’s
song at eve. Goodnight, sweet night! I know
He watcheth thee and me.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>(<i>Timon</i>) “He heareth thee, my Leta.
Watch ye the star on high. See ye, it winketh
knowingly. God rest ye, blest.”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>(<i>At the Castle.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “And I the Lady Marye,
o’ the lord’s estate! Jana, fetch me a goblet
that I drink.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “Aye, lady. A wine, perchance?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Nay, for yester thou didst
fetch me wine, and I did cast it here upon the
flags. Its stain thee still canst see. Shouldst
thou fetch a goblet filled to brim with crystal
drops, and I should cast it here, the greedy
stone would sup it up, and where be then the
stain? Think ye the stone then the wiser o’
the two?</p>
<p class='c007'>“I but loosed my fancy from its tether to
gambol at its will, and they do credit me amiss.
I weave not with strand upon a wheel. ’Tis
not my station. Nay, I dally through the day
with shuttle-cock and regal—a fitting play for
yonder babe.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>“Jana, peer ye to the valley there. Doth
see the Stranger? He knocketh at the sill o’
yonder cot.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I saw him when the cotter locked the sheep
to tap a straying ewe who lagged, and he did
enter as the cotter stepped within—unbidden,
Jana, that I swear—and now he knocketh
there!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “Nay, lady, ’tis but a barish limb
that reacheth o’er the door. The cotter heedeth
not, ye see.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “I do see him now to enter,
and never did he turn! Jana, look ye now!
Doth still befriend a doubt?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “Come, lady, look! Sirrah John
hath sent ye this, a posey, wrought o’ gold and
scented with sweet oils.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Ah, Jana, ’tis a hateful
sight to me—a posey I may keep! Why,
the losing o’ the blossom doth but make it
dear!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Stay! I know thee’lt say ’twas proffered
with his love. But, Jana, thou hast much to
learn. What, then, is love? Can I then sort
<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>my tinder for its building and ply the glass to
start its flame? The day is o’er full now of
ones who tried the trade. Nay, Jana, only
when He toucheth thee and bids thee come and
putteth to thy hand His own doth love abide
with thee.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Come to the turret, then. I do find me
whetted for a look within.</p>
<p class='c007'>“How cool the eve! ’Tis creepy to the marrow.
Look ye down the hillside there below.
See ye the cotter’s taper burning there? How
white the night! ’Tis put upon the earth a
mantling shroud, and sailing in the silver sky a
fairy boat. Perchance it bringeth us the
Babe.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Jana, see’st thou the Stranger? He now
doth count the sheep. Dare I trust him there?
I see him fondling a lamb and he doth hold it
close unto his breast.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “Nay, lady, ’tis the shepherd’s dog
who skulketh now ahind the shelter wall.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Ah, give me, spite o’ this,
the power to sing like Thine own bird who
swayeth happily upon the forest bough and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>pours abroad his song where no man heareth
him.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Hear ye them below within the hall?
They do lap at swine-broth. Their cups do
clank. At morrow’s eve they feast and now
do need to stretch their paunches. Full often
have I seen my ladye mother’s white robe
stained crimson for a jest, and oftener have I
been gagged to swallow it. But, Jana, I do
laugh, for the greatest jest is he who walloweth
in slime and thinketh him a fish.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “See, Lady Marye! This, thy
mother’s oaken chest, it still doth bear a scent
o’ her. And this, thy gown o’ her own fashioning.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Yea, Jana, and this o’
her, a strand wound to a ball for mine own casting.
And this! I tell thee, ’tis oft and oft she
did press me to her own breast and chide me
with her singing voice: ‘My Marye, ’tis a game
o’ buff, this living o’ these days o’ ours o’ seeking
happiness. When ye would catch the
rogue he flitteth on.’</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>“See, these spots o’ yellowed tears—the
rusting of her heart away! Stay, Jana, I’ll
teach thee a trick o’ tripping, for she full oft
did say a heart could hide aneath a tripping.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Thee shouldst curtsey so; and spread thy
fan. ’Tis such a shield to hide ahind. Then
shouldst thy heart to flutter, trip out its measure,
so. See, I do laugh me now—nay, ’tis
ne’er a tear, Jana, ’tis the mist o’ loving! Doth
see the moon hath joined the dance? Or, am I
swooning? ’Tis fancy. See, the cotter’s taper
still doth flicker from the shutter. What’s
then amiss? The stranger, Jana! See! He
entereth the shelter place! Come, I fear me
lest I see too much? Lend me thy hand. I’ve
played the jane-o-apes till the earth doth seem
awry.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Hear ye the wine-soaked song, and aye,
the feed-drunkened? My sire, Jana, my sire!
I do grow hateful of myself, but mark ye, at
the setting o’ the feast I do wage him war at
words! A porridge pot doth brew for babes; I
promise ye a full loaf. Do drop the curtain
now, I weary me with reasoning.”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>(<i>Morning at the Castle Gate.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Tito</i>) “Aho, within! Thine eyes begummed
and this the Christ-eve and mornin’
come? Scatter! Petro, stand ahand! I do
fetch ye sucklings agagged with apples red.
Ye gad, my mouth doth slime! To whiff a
hungerfull would make the sages wag.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Petro</i>) “Amorrow, Tito. Thee’lt wear
thee white as our own Lady long afore ye
e’en canst dip thy finger in the drip.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Tito</i>) “Pst! Petro, I did steal the brain
and tung. Canst leave me have a peep now to
the hall? Jesu! What a breeder o’ sore bellies.
I’d pay my price to heaven to rub Sir John a
briskish rub with mullien o’er the back.</p>
<p class='c007'>“They do tell me down below that trouble
bideth Timon. His Tina layeth dull and Leta
doth little but mumble prayer.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Petro</i>) “Tito, thee art a chanter of sad
lays at this Christ-time. Go thou to the
turret and play ye at the pipes. Put thee the
sucklings to the kitchen, aside the fire dogs
there. And Tito, thee’lt find a pudding pan
<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>ahind the brushbox. Go thee and lick it
there!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>To Sir John</i>) “Aye, I do come, my lord.
’Tis but the sucklers come. I know not where
in the castle she doth bide, but hark ye and ye’ll
surely hear the pipes.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Sir John</i>) “Bah! Damn the drivelling
pipes! I do hear them late and early. ’Tis a
fine bird for a lordly nest! Go, fetch her here!
But no, I’d tweak her at a vaster sitting. Get
thee, thou grunting swine! And take this as
thy Christ-gift. I’d deal thee thrice the measure
wert not to save these lordly legs. Here,
fetch me a courser. I’d ride me to the hounds.
And strip him of his foot cloth, that I do waste
me not a blow. Dost like the smart? Or shall
I ply it more? Thee’lt dance to tune, or damn
ye, run from cuts!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Ho, Timon, how goes it with the brat?
The world’s o’erfull o’ cattle now!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Timon</i>) “Yea, sire, so did my Leta say
when she did see thee come. ’Tis with our
Tina as a bird behovered in the day. Aday,
and God forgive thee.”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>(<i>In Lady Marye’s Chamber.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Jana, morn hath come.
’Tis Christ-tide and He not here! My limbs
do fail, and how do I then to stand me thro’
the day? The feast, the feast, yea, the feast!
The day doth break thro’ fog in truth!</p>
<p class='c007'>“My mother’s bridal robe! Go, Jana, fetch
it me, and one small holly bough. Lend me a
hand. I fain would see the cot.</p>
<p class='c007'>“See thou! The sun doth love it, too, and
chooseth him to rise him o’er its roof! Hath
thee seen the herder yet to buckle loose the
shelter place? And, Jana, did all seem well to
thee? Nay, the Stranger, Jana! See, he still
doth hold the lamb! ‘My Marye, ’tis a game
o’ buff, this living o’ these days o’ ours.’ In
truth, ’tis put.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Jana, I did dream me like a babe the night
hours through; a dream so sweet, o’ vast blue
above wherein the angels hid, and I did see the
Christ-child swaddled in a cloud; and Mary,
maid of sorrows, led to him adown a silver
beam.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>“Then thee dost deem my fitful fancy did
but play me false? Stay thou, my tears, and,
heart o’ me, who knoweth He doth watch o’er
thee and me?</p>
<p class='c007'>“Her robe! Ah, Fancy, ’tis thy right that
thou art ever doubted. For thou art a conjurer,
a trickster, verily. What chamming<SPAN name='r5' /><SPAN href='#f5' class='c011'><sup>[5]</sup></SPAN>
joy didst thee then offer her?</p>
<div class='footnote' id='f5'>
<p class='c007'><SPAN href='#r5'>5</SPAN>. Obsolete form of “champing.” Used here figuratively.</p>
</div>
<p class='c013'>“Thou cloud of billowed lace, a shield befitting
her pure heart! And I the flowering
of the bud! Hear me, all this o’ her! I love
thee well, and should the day but offer a bitter
draft to quaff, ’tis but to whet me for a sweeter
drink. And mother, heart o’ me, hearken and
do believe. I love my sire, Sir John.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Come, Jana. Hear ye the carolers? Their
song doth filter thro’ my heart and lighten it.
The snow doth tweak aneath their feet like
pipes to ’company them. Cast ye a bit o’ holly
and a mistletoe.</p>
<p class='c007'>“The feasters come to whet them with a
pudding whiff. See, my sire doth ride him up
the hill and o’er his saddle front a fallow deer.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>Hear thee the cheering that he comes! Her
loved, my Jana, and her heart doth beat
through me!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Christ-love to thee, my sire! Dost hear
me here? And I do pledge it thee upon His
precious drops caught by the holly tree. He
seeth not, but she doth know!”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>(<i>Christmas Eve.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “My lady, who doth come a knocking
at the door? ’Tis Petro, come to bid ye to
the feast.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Petro</i>) “The candles are long since lit
and Sirrah John hath wearyed him with jest.
The feasting hath not yet begun, for he doth
wait thee to drink a health to feasters in the
hall.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Yea, Petro, say unto my
sire, the Lady Marye comes. And say ye
more, she bids the feasters God-love. And say
thee more, she doth bear the blessings of her
Lady Mother who wisheth God’s love to them
all. And fetch ye candle trees to scores, and
fetch the dulcimer and one who knocketh on its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>strings, and let him patter forth a lively tune,
for Lady Marye comes.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Jana, look ye once again to the valley
there. The tapers burn not for Christ-night.
Nay, a sickly gleam, and see, the Stranger, how
he doth hold the lamb! And o’er his face a
smile—or do my eyes beblur, and doth he
weep?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Jana</i>) “Nay, lady, all is dark. ’Tis but
the whitish snow and shadow pitted by the
tapers’ light.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “Fetch me then my fan.
I go to meet my Lord. Doth hear? Already
they do play. I point me thus, and trip my
heart’s full measure.”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>(<i>In the Hall.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Sir John</i>) “So, lily-lip, thee’lt scratch!
Thy silky paw hath claws, eh? Egad! A
phantom! A ghoulish trick! My head doth
split and where my tung? Get ye! Why sit
like grinning asses! And where thy tungs?
My God! What scent o’ graves she beareth
with that shroud!”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>(<i>Lady Marye</i>) “God cheer, my lord, and
doth my tripping suit thee well? These flags
are but my heart and hers, and do I bruise them
well for thee? Ah, aha! See, I do spread my
fan. To shield my tears, ye think? Nay, were
they to fall like Mayday’s rain and thee wert
buried ’neath a stone, as well then could’st thou
see! And yet I love thee well. See thee, my
sire, I pour this to thee!</p>
<p class='c007'>“Look ye, good people at the feast; the boar
is ready to slip its bones.</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Aside</i>) “God, send Thy mantling love
here to Thine own! For should I judge, when
Thou I know dost love the saint and sinner as
Thine own?</p>
<p class='c007'>“To thee, my sire, to thee!”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>And gusted wind did flick the tapers out and
they did hear her murmuring “The Stranger!
He doth bid me come!”</p>
<p class='c007'>And to this day they tell that Lady Marye
cast the wine into a suckler’s mouth and never
did she drink!</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>“By all the saints! Do thee go and search!”</p>
<p class='c007'>Thus spake her sire, Sir John. And all the
long night thro’ the torches gleamed, but all in
vain. And they do say that Sirrah John did
shake him in a chilling and flee him to a friar,
while still the search did last.</p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>(<i>In Timon’s Cot.</i>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Timon, waken ye! Our Leta still
doth court her dreams and I do weary me.
The long night thro’ the feasters cried them
thro’ the hills and none but Him could shield
our Tina from their din.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Take heart, my lad, I fear me yet to look
within the crib. Hold thou my hand, man.
Nay, not yet! Come, waken Leta that she then
do feed thy lambs.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Timon</i>) “Come, Leta, wake! The sun
hath tipped the crown o’ yonder hill and spread
a blush adown her snow-white side.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Yea, sire. And Tina, how be
she?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Timon</i>) “A fairy, sleeping, Tad.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Ah, sire, but I did dream the dark
<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>o’ yesterday away. And, mother, she doth
strain unto the sun! I see her eyes be-glistened.
See, the frost-cart dumped beside our
door, and look ye! he, the Frost man, put a
cap upon the chimney pot. I’ll fetch a brush
and fan away his cloak. My Christ-gift, it
would be my Tina’s smile. She did know me
not at late o’ night; think ye it were the dark?
Stay, sire! I’ll cast the straw and put the
sheep aright!” (<i>Exit.</i>)</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>(<i>Timon</i>) “My Leta, come! Thy Christ-gift
bideth o’er our Tina’s lips and she doth
coo!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Timon, call aloud, that she heareth
thee. Leta! Leta! Little one! Dost hear
thy sire to call? Why, what’s amiss with thee?
Thy staring eyes, my child! Speak thou!”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Sh-e-e-e! Sire, His mother’s
come! And, ah, my heart! All white she be
an’ crushed unto her breast a holly bough, and
one white arm doth circle o’er a lamb! See,
sire, the snow did drift it thro’ and weave a
fairy robe to cover her.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>(<i>Timon</i>) “Who leaveth by the door; a
stranger?”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Nay, He bideth here.”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Timon</i>) “The Lady Marye, on my soul!
Leta, drop ye here thy tears, for madness bideth
loosed upon the earth! And shouldst——”</p>
<p class='c007'>(<i>Leta</i>) “Nay, sire! Who cometh there?”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>And searchers there did find the Lady
Marye, dead, amid the lambs and snow—a
flowering o’ the rose upon a bush o’ thorn.</p>
<p class='c007'>And hark ye! At the time when winter’s
blast doth sound, thee’lt hear the wailing o’ the
Lady Marye’s pipes, and know the Stranger
bideth o’er the earth.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>The two dramatic stories presented here
were but a paving of the way for larger work.
“The Stranger” had been hardly completed
when Patience announced, “Thee’lt sorry
at the task I set thee next.” And then she
began the construction of a drama that in its
delivery consumed the time of the sittings for
several weeks, and it contained when finished
some 20,000 words. It is divided into six acts,
each with a descriptive prologue, and three of
the acts have two scenes each, making nine
scenes in all. It, like the two shorter sketches,
is medieval in scene, and the pictures which it
presents of the customs and costumes and manners
of the thirteenth or fourteenth century
(the period is not definitely indicated) are
amazingly vivid. It has a somewhat intricate
plot, which is carried forward rapidly and its
strands skillfully interwoven until the nature
of the fabric is revealed in the sixth act. This
play is much more skillfully constructed in
respect of stage technique than the two playlets
<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>that preceded it, and it could, no doubt,
be produced upon the stage with perhaps a
little alteration to adapt it to modern conditions.
Some idea of its beauty, its sprightliness
and its humor may be obtained from the
prologue to the first act, which follows:</p>
<p class='c022'>Wet earth, fresh trod.</p>
<p class='c010'>Highway cut to wrinkles with cart wheels
born in with o’erloading. A flank o’ daisy
flowers and stones rolled o’er in blanketing o’
moss. Brown o’ young oak-leaves shows soft
amid the green. Adown a steep unto the vale,
hedged in by flowering fruit and threaded
through with streaming silver o’ the brook,
where rushes shiver like to swishing o’ a lady’s
silk.</p>
<p class='c010'>Moss-lipped log doth case the spring who
mothereth the brook, and ivy hath climbed it
o’er the trunk and leafless branch o’ yonder
birch, till she doth stand bedecked as for a
folly dance.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c023'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat!</div>
<div class='line'>Rat-a-tat! Sh-h-h-h!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>From out the thick where hides the logged
and mud-smeared shack.</p>
<div class='lg-container-l c024'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in10'>Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat!</div>
<div class='line in18'>Sh-h-h-h!</div>
<div class='line'>And hark ye, to the tanner’s song!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-b c023'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Up, up, up! and down, down, down!</div>
<div class='line'>A hammer to smite</div>
<div class='line in2'>And a hand to pound!</div>
<div class='line'>A maid to court,</div>
<div class='line in2'>And a swain to woo,</div>
<div class='line'>A heiffer felled</div>
<div class='line in2'>And I build a shoe!</div>
<div class='line'>A souse anew in yonder vat,</div>
<div class='line in2'>And I’ll buy my lady</div>
<div class='line'>A feathered hat!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>The play then begins with the tanner and
his apprentice, and the action soon leads to the
royal castle, where the exquisite love story is
developed, without a love scene. There is no
tragedy in the story. It is all sentiment, and
humor. And it is filled with poetry. Consider,
for example, this description of Easter morn,
from the prologue to the sixth act:</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>The earth did wake with boughs aburst. A
deadened apple twig doth blush at casting
Winter’s furry coat, to find her naked blooms
abath in sun. The feathered hosts, atuned, do
carol, “He hath risen!” E’en the crow with
envy trieth melody and soundeth as a brass;
and listening, loveth much his song. Young
grasses send sweet-scented damp through the
hours of risen day. The bell, atoll, doth bid
the village hence. E’en path atraced through
velvet fields hath flowered with fringing bloom
and jeweled drops, atempting tarriers. The
sweet o’ sleep doth grace each venturing face.
The kine stand knee depth within the silly-tittered
brook, or deep in bog awallow. Soft
breath ascent and lazy-eyed, they wait them
for the stripping-maid.</p>
<p class='c007'>The play is permeated with rich humor, and
to illustrate this I give a bit of the dialogue
between Dougal, the page, and Anne, the
castle cook. To appreciate it one must know
a little of the story. The hand of the Princess
Ermaline is sought by Prince Charlie, a doddering
<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>old rake, whom she detests, but whom
for reasons of state she may be compelled to
accept. However, she vows she will not speak
while he is at court, nor does she utter a word,
in the play, until the end of the last act. She
has fallen in love with a troubadour, who has
come from no one knows where, but who by his
grace and his wit and his intelligence has made
himself a favorite with all the castle folk.
Anne has a roast on the spit, and is scouring a
pot with sand and rushes, when Dougal enters
the kitchen.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dougal.</i>—“Anne, goody girl, leave me but
suck a bone. My sides have withered and
fallen in, in truth.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Anne.</i>—“Get ye, Dougal! Thy footprints
do show them in grease like to the Queen’s
seal upon my floor!”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dougal.</i>—“The princess hath bidden me to
stay within her call, but she doth drouse,
adrunk on love-lilt o’ the troubadour, and
Prince of Fools (Prince Charlie) hath gone
long since to beauty sleep. He tied unto his
poster a posey wreath, and brushed in scented
<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>oils his beauteous locks, and sung a lay to
Ermaline, and kissed a scullery wench afore
he slept.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Anne.</i>—“The dog! I’d love a punch to
shatter him! And Ermaline hath vowed to
lock her lips and pass as mute until his going.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dougal.</i>—“Yea, but eye may speak, for hers
do flash like lightning, and though small, her
foot doth fall most weighty to command.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yester, the Prince did seek her in the
throne room. He’d tied his kerchief to a sack
and filled it full o’ blue-bells, and minced him
’long the halls astrewing blossoms and singing
like to a frozen pump.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Within the chamber, Ermaline did hide her
face in dreading to behold him come, but at the
door he spied the dear and bounded like a
puppy ’cross the flags, apelting her with blooms
and sputtering ’mid tee-hees. She, tho’, did
spy him first, and measured her his sight and
sudden slipped her ’neath the table shroud.
And he, Anne, I swear, sprawled him in his
glee and rose to find her gone. And whacked
my shin, the ass, acause I heaved at shoulders.”</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span><i>Anne.</i>—“Ah, Dougal, ’tis a weary time, in
truth. Thee hadst best to put it back, to court
thy mistress’ whim. Good sleep, ye! And
Dougal, I have a loving for the troubadour.
Whence cometh he?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dougal.</i>—“Put thy heart to rest, good
Anne; he’s but a piper who doth knock the
taber’s end and coaxeth trembling strings by
which to sing. He came him out o’ nothing,
like to the night or day. We waked to hear
him singing ’neath the wall.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Anne.</i>—“Aye, but I do wag! For surely
thee doth see how Ermaline doth court his
song.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dougal.</i>—“Nay, Anne, ’tis but to fill an
empty day.”</p>
<hr class='c025' />
<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>When Patience had finished this she preened
herself a little. “Did I not then spin a lengthy
tale?” she asked. But immediately she began
work upon another, a story of such length
that it alone will make a book. It differs in
many respects from her other works, particularly
in the language, and from a literary
standpoint is altogether the most amazing of
her compositions. This, too, is dramatic in
form, but scene often merges into scene without
division, and it has more of the characteristics
of the modern story. It is, however,
medieval, but it is a tale of the fields, primarily,
the heroine, Telka, being a farm lass, and the
hero a field hand. Perhaps this is why the
obscure dialectal forms of rural England of a
time long gone by are woven into it. In this
Patience makes an astonishingly free use of
the prefix “a,” in place of a number of prefixes,
such as “be” and “with,” now commonly
used, and she attaches it to nouns and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>verbs and adjectives with such frequency as to
make this usage a prominent feature of the
diction. Let me introduce Telka in the words
of Patience:</p>
<p class='c012'>“Dewdamp soggeth grasses laid low aneath
the blade at yester’s harvest, and thistle-bloom
weareth at its crown a jewelled spray.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Brown thrush, nested ’neath the thick o’
yonder shrub, hath preened her wings full long
aneath the tender warmth o’ morning sun.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Afield the grasses glint, and breeze doth
seeming set aflow the current o’ a green-waved
stream.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Soft-footed strideth Telka, bare toes
asink in soft earth and bits o’ green acling,
bedamped, unto her snowy limbs. Smocked
brown and aproned blue, she seemeth but a
bit o’ earth and sky alight amid the field.
Asplit at throat, the smock doth show a busom
like to a sheen o’ fleecy cloud aveiling o’er the
sun’s first flush.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Betanned the cheek, and tresses bleached
by sun at every twist of curl. Strong hands
<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>do clasp a branch long dead and dried, at end
bepronged, and casteth fresh-cut blades to
heap.”</p>
<p class='c013'>Such is Telka in appearance. “She seemeth
but a bit o’ earth and sky alight amid the field.”
Seemeth, yes, but there is none of the sky in
Telka. She is of the earth, earthy, an intensely
practical young woman, industrious, economical,
but with no sense of beauty whatever, no
imagination, no thought above the level of the
ground. “I fashioned jugs o’ clay,” her
father complained, “and filled with bloom, and
she becracked their necks and kept the swill
therein.” Add to this a hot temper and a sharp
tongue, and the character of Telka is revealed.
Franco, the lover, on the other hand, is an
artist and poet, although a field worker. He
has been reared, as a foundling, by the friars
in the neighboring monastery, and they have
taught him something of the arts of mosaics
and the illumination of missals. Between these
two is a constant conflict of the material and
the spiritual, and the theme of the story is the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>spiritual regeneration or development of
Telka.</p>
<p class='c012'>“See,” says Franco, “Yonder way-rose
hath a bloom! She be a thrifty wench and hath
saved it from the spring.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Telka.</i>—“I hate the thorned thing. Its
barb hath pricked my flesh and full many a
rent doth show it in my smock.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Franco.</i>—“Ah, Telka, thine eyes do look
like yonder blue and shimmer like to brooklet’s
breast.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Telka.</i>—“The brooklet be bestoned, and
muddied by the swine. Thy tung doth trip
o’er pretty words.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Franco.</i>—“But list, Telka, I would have
thee drink from out my cup!”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Telka.</i>—“Ah, show me then the cup.”</p>
<p class='c013'>And Telka’s father, a wise old man, cautions
Franco:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Thee hadst best to take a warning, Franco.
She be o’ the field and rooted there; and thee
o’ the field, but reaped, and bound to free thee
<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>of the chaff by flailing of the world. She then
would be to thee but straw and waste to cast
awhither.”</p>
<p class='c013'>But an understanding of the nature of this
strange tale and its peculiar dialect requires
a longer extract. The “Story of the Judge
Bush” will serve, better perhaps than anything
else, to convey an idea of the characters of
Telka and Franco, as well as to illustrate the
language; and the episode is interesting in
itself. The dialogue opens with Telka, Franco
and Marion on their way to Telka’s hut.
Marion is Telka’s dearest friend, although one
gets a contrary impression from Telka’s
caustic remarks in this excerpt; but unlike
Telka, she can understand and appreciate the
poetic temperament of Franco. To show her
contempt for Franco’s aspirations, Telka has
taken his color pots and buried them in a
dung-heap, and this characteristic act is the
foundation of the “Story of the Judge Bush.”</p>
<p class='c012'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Come, we do put us to a-dry.
’Tis sky aweep, and ’tis a gray day from now.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>I tell thee, Telka, we then put us to hearth,
and spin ye shall. And thou, Marion, shalt
bake an ash loaf and put o’ apples for to burst
afore the fire. ’Tis chill, the whine-wind o’ the
storm. We then shall spin a tale by turn; and
Telka, lass, I plucked a sweet bloom for thee
to wear. Thine eye hath softened, eh, my
lass? Here, set thy nose herein and thou canst
ne’er to think a tho’t besoured.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Ah, ’tis a wise lad I wed, who
spendeth o’ his stacking hours to pluck weed,
and thee wouldst have me sniff the dung-dust
from their leaf. Do cast them whither, and
’pon thy smock do wipe thy hand. It be my
fancy for to waste the gray hours aside the
fire’s glow,—but, Franco, see ye, the wee pigs
asqueal! ’Tis nay liking the wet. Do fetch
them hence. Here, Marion, cast my cape
about thee, since thou dost wear thy pettiskirt
and Sabboth smock. Gad! Blue maketh thee
to match a plucked goose. Thy skin already
hath seamed, I vow. And, Marion, ’tis ’deed a
flash to me thy tress be red! Should I to bear
a red top I’d cast it whither.”</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>(<i>Franco</i>) “Telka, Telka, drat thy barbed
tung! Cast thou the bolt. Gad! What a
scent o’ browning joint!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Do leave me for to turn the spit
that I may lick the finger-drip. Thy nose,
Franco, doth trick thee. Thou canst sniff o’
dung-dust and scoff at drip. Go, roll the
apples o’er in yonder pile. They then would
suit thee well!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Telka, I bid thee to wash away
such tunging. Here, I set them so. Now do
I to fetch thy wheel. Nay, Marion, do cast
thy blush. ’Tis but the Telka witch. Do thou
to start thee at thy tale aspin.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Aye, Marion, thou then, since
ne’er truth knoweth thee, thou shouldst ne’er
to lack for story. Story do I say? Aye, or
lie, ’tis brothers they be. And, Franco, do thou
to spin, ’twill suit thy taste to feed ’pon maid’s
fare. I be the spinner o’ the tale afirst. But,
Franco, I fain would have thee fetch a pair o’
harkers. Didst deem to fret me that thee
dumped the twain aneath the stack? Go thou
and fetch. ’Tis well that thee shouldst bed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>with swine lest thee be preening for a
swan.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Ugh, Telka! Thou art like to
a vat o’ wine awork. Thou’lt fetch the swine
do ye seek to company them.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “So well, Polly, I do go, for ’tis
swine o’ worth amore than color daub. Set
thee, since thou be wench.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Look ye, Telka, ’tis here I cast
the cloak and show thee metal abared. Thou
hast ridden ’pon a high nag for days, and I
do kick his hock and set him at a limp. Do
thou to clip thy words ashort or I do cast a
stone athro’ thy bubble.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Ah, Franco, ’tis nay meaning!
Put here. Do spin thy tale, but do ye first to
leave me fetch the wee-squeals. Then I do
be a tamed dove. See ye?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Away, then, and fetch thee
back ahurry.” (<i>Exit Telka.</i>)</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Marion, ’tis what that I should
put as path to tread? She be awronged but do
I feed the fires, or put a stop?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Marion</i>) “Franco, ’tis a pot and stew she
<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>loveth. Think ye to coax thy dream-forms
from out the pot? Telka arounded and
awrathed be like unto a thunder-storm, but
Telka less the wrath and round, be Winter’s
dreary.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Not so, Marion, I shall then
call forth the ghosts o’ painted pots and touch
the dreary abloom. Didst thou e’er to slit thy
eye and view thro’ afar? Dost thou then behold
the motes? So, then, shall I to view the
Telka maid. Whist! Here she be! Aback,
Telka? Come, I itch for to spin a tale. Sit
thee here and dry the wet sparkles from thy
curls. List, do!</p>
<p class='c010'>“’Twere a peddle-packer who did stroll
adown the blade-strewn path along the village
edge, abent. And brow-shagged eye did hide
a twinkle-mirth aneath——”</p>
<p class='c010'>“E-e-ek! E-e-e-k!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Look, Franco, see they ’e-e-e-k’
do I to pull their tails uncurl!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Do ye then wish thee, Telka,
for to play upon their one-string lyre, or do I
put ahead?”</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“Bestrung, aborder o’ the road, the cots
send smoke-wreathes up to join the cloud.
’Twere sup-hour, and drip afrazzle soundeth
thro’ the doors beope, like to a water-cachit
aslipping thro’ dry leaf to pool aneath. Do I
then put it clear?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Yea, Franco, what hath he in
his pack? I’d put a gander for a frock!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Marion</i>) “On, Franco, thy tale hath a
lilt.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Awag-walk he weaveth to the
door afirst-hand. The wee lads and lass do
cluster ’bout the door, and twist atween their
finger and thumb their smock-hem, or chew
thereon. But he doth seem aloth to cast of
pack or ope, and standeth at apeer to murmur—then
to cast.”</p>
<p class='c010'>“E-e-e-k! E-e-e-k!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Nay, Franco, ’twere not my
doing, I swear. ’Twere he who sat upon a fire-spark.
Do haste! I hot for sight athin the
pack.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “What, Telka, thou awag and
pig asqueak, and me the tail! Do put quiet!</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>“The dame and sire do step them out from
gray innards o’ the hut, and pack-tipper beggeth
for a mug o’ porridge, and showeth o’ the
strand-bound pack. Wee lads and lass
aquiver, tip-topple at a peep, and dame doth
fetch the brew, but shaketh nay at offering o’
gift, and spake it so: ‘A porridge pot doth
hold a mug, and one amore for he who bideth
’thout a brew. Nay, drink ye, and thank the
morrow’s sun. ’Tis stony path thee trod, and
dust choketh. Do rest, and bide thee at our
sill till weariness awarn away.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“Think ye, Marion, that peddle-man did
leave and cast not pence? What think ye,
Telka?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “I did hear thee tell o’ his fill, but
tell thee o’ fill o’ pack.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “A time, Telka. Nay, he did
drink and left as price an ancient jug o’ clay,
and thick and o’ a weight, to thank and wag-weave
hence.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Did he then to pack anew and
off ’thout a peep?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Yea, and dark did yawn and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>swallow him. But morrow bringeth tale that
peddle-packer had paid to each o’ huts a beg,
and what think ye? Left a jug where’er, he
supped!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “’Twere a clayster, and the
morrow findeth him afollow for price,
egh?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Nay, Telka, not so. And jugs
ashaken soundeth like to a wine; but atip did
show nay drop. Marion, do tweak the Telka—she
be aslumber.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Marion</i>) “Wake thee, Telka, the jugs be
now to crack.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “Nay, ’tis a puddle o’ a tale—a
packster and a strand-bound pack, aweary.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “But list thee! For ’twere eve
that found the dames awag. For tho’ they set
the jugs aright, there be but dust where they
did stand. Yea, all, Telka maid, save that the
peddle-man did give to dame at first hand.
The gabble put it so, that ’twere the porridge
begged that dames did fetch but for a hope o’
price, where jugs ashrunk.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “But ’twere such a scurvey,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>Franco! I wage the jug aleft doth leak.
What think ye I be caring ’bout jug or peddle-packer?”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Marion</i>) “Snip short thy word, Telka.
Leave Franco for to tell. I be aprick for
scratch to ease the itch o’ wonder. On, lad,
and tie the ends o’ weave-strand.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “’Tis told the dame did treasure
o’ the jug, and sire did shew abroad the wonder,
and all did list unto the swish o’ ’nothing
wine,’ and thirsted for asup, and each did
tip its crook’d neck and shake, but ne’er a drop
did slip it through. And wonder, Marion, the
sides did sweat like to a damp within! So
’twere. The townsmen shook awag their heads
and feared the witch-work or the wise man’s
cunger, and they did bid the sire to dig a pit
and put therein the jug.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “’Twere waste they wrought, I
vow, for should ye crack away its neck ’twould
then be fit for holding o’ the swill. There be
a pair ahind the stack.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Nay, Telka, not as this, for
they did dig a pit and plant jug therein, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>morrow showed from out the fresh-turned
earth a bush had sprung, and on its every
branch a bud o’ many colored hue alike to
rainbow’s robe. And lo, the dames and sires
did cluster ’bout, and each did pluck a twig
aladen with the bud, but as ’twere snapped,
what think ye? There be in the hand a naught—save
when the dame who asked not price did
pluck. And ’tis told that to this day the townsmen
fetch unto the bush and force apluck do
they make question o’ their brotherman. And
so ’tis with he who fashions o’ the rainbow’s
robe a world to call his own, and fetcheth to
the grown bush his brother for to shew, and
he seeth not, ’tis so he judge.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “O, thou art a story-spinner o’ a
truth, and peddle-packer too, egh? And thou
dost deem that thou hast planted o’ thy pot to
force thy bush by which ye judge. Paugh!
Thou art a fool, Franco, and thy pots o’ color
be not aworth thy pains. So thou dost think
then I be plucking o’ naught aside thy bush.
Well, I do tell thee this. Thy pots ne’er as
the jug shall spring. Nay, for morn found me
<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>adig, and I did cast them here to the fire, afearing
they should haunt.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “’Tis nuff, Telka, I leave them
to the flame. But thou shouldst know the bush
abud doth show in every smouldering blaze.”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Telka</i>) “See, Franco, I be yet neck
ahead, for I do spat upon the flame and lo,
thy bush be naught!”</p>
<p class='c010'>(<i>Franco</i>) “Aye, ’tis so, but there be ahid
a place thou ne’er hast seen. Therein I put
what be mine own—the love for them. Thou
art a butterfly, Telka, abeating o’ thy wing
upon a thistle-leaf. Do hover ’bout the
blooms thou knowest best and leave dream-bush
and thistle-leaf.”</p>
<p class='c013'>It is a remarkable story. Many lines are
gems of wit or wisdom or beauty, and it contains
some exquisite poetry. There are many
characters in it, all of them lovable but Telka,
and she becomes so ere the end.</p>
<p class='c007'>A curious and interesting fact in this connection
is that after beginning this story Patience
used its peculiar form of speech in her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>conversation and in her poems. Previously, as
I have pointed out, there was a natural and
consistent difference between her speech and
her writings, and it would seem that in this
change she would show that she is not subject
to any rules, nor limited to the dialect of any
period or any locality. Scattered through this
present volume are poems, prose pieces and
bits of her conversation, in which the curious
and frequent use of the prefix a-, the abbreviation
of the word “of” and the strange twists
of phrase of the Telka story are noticeable.
All of these were received after this story was
begun.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>But there is another form of prose composition
that Patience has given to us. While she
is writing a story she does not confine herself
to that work, but precedes or follows it with a
bit of gossip, a personal message, a poem or
something else. Sometimes she stops in the
midst of her story to deliver something entirely
foreign to it that comes into her mind. During
one week, while “Telka” was being received,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>she presented three parables, all in the
peculiar language of that story. I reproduce
them here and leave it to the reader to ponder
o’er their meaning.</p>
<p class='c012'>“Long, yea, long agone, aside a wall atilt
who joined unto a brother-wall and made
atween a gap apoint abacked, there did upon
the every day, across-leged, sit a bartmaker,
amid his sacks aheaped. And ne’er a buy did
tribesmen make. Nay, but ’twere the babes
who sought the bartman, and lo, he shutteth
both his eyes and babes do pilfer from the
sacks and feed thereon, till sacks asink. And
still at crosslegs doth he sit.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and days do follow days till Winter
setteleth ’pon his locks its snow. Aye, and lo,
at rise o’ sun ’pon such an day as had followed
day since first he sat, they did see that he had
ashrunked and they did wag that ’twere
the wasting o’ his days at sitting at crossleg.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And yet the babes did fetch for feast and
wert fed. Till last a day did dawn and gap
<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>ashowed it empty and no man woed; but babes
did sorry ’bout the spot ’till tribesmen marveled
and fetched alongside and coaxed with
sweets their word. But no man found answer
in their prate. And they did ope remaining
sacks and lo, there be anaught save dry fruit,
and babes did reach forth for it and wert fed,
and more, it did nurture them, and they went
forth alater to the fields o’ earth astrengthened
and fed ’pon—what, Brother? List ye. ’Pon
truth.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c010'>“There be aside the market’s place a merchant
and a brother merchant. Aye, and one
did put price ahigh, and gold aclinketh and
copper groweth mold atween where he did
store. And his brother giveth measure full and
more, for the pence o’ him who offereth but
pence, at measure that runneth o’er to full o’
gold’s price.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, they do each to buy o’ herds, and he
who hath full price buyeth but the shrunk o’
herd, and he who hath little, buyeth the full o’
herd. And time maketh full the sacks o’ him
<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>who hoardeth gold, and layeth at aflat the sacks
o’ him who maketh poor price. And lo, he who
hath plenty hoardeth more, and he who had
little buyed o’ seed and sowed and reaped
therefrom. And famine crept it nearer and
fringed ’pon the land and smote the land o’
him who asacketh o’ gold and crept it ’pon the
land o’ him o’ pence.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And herds did low o’ hunger and he who
hath but gold hath naught to feed thereon.
For sacks achoked ’pon gold. And he who had
but pence did sack but grain and grass and fed
the herd. And lo, they fattened and did fill
the emptied sacks with gold, while he who hath
naught but gold did sick, and famine wasted o’
his herd and famine’s sun did rise to shine ’pon
him astricken ’pon gold asacked.”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c010'>“There wert a man and his brother and they
wrought them unalike. Yea, and one did
fashion from wood, and ply till wonderwork
astood, a temple o’ wood. And his brother
fashioneth o’ reeds and worketh wonder baskets.
And he who wrought o’ wood scoffeth.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>And the tribesmen make buy o’ baskets and
wag that ’tis a-sorry wrought the temple, and
spake them that the Lord would smite, and lay
it low. For he who wrought did think him o’
naught save the high and wide o’ it, and looked
not at its strength or yet its stand ’pon earth.
And they did turn the baskets ’bout and put
to strain, and lo, they did hold. And it were
the tribesmen, who shook their heads and murmured,
‘Yea, yea, they be a goodly.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“So ’tis; he who doth fashion from wood o’
size doth prosper not, and he who doth fashion
o’ reed and small, doth thrive verily.”</p>
<p class='c013'>These are all somewhat cryptic, although
their interpretation is not difficult, but that
which follows on the magic of a laugh needs no
explanation. “I do fashion out a tale for
babes,” said Patience, when she presented this
parable of the fairy’s wand, and in it she gives
expression to another one of her characteristics,
one that is intensely human, the love of laughter,
which she seems to like to hear and often
to provoke.</p>
<p class='c012'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>“Lo, at a time thou knowest not, aye, I, thy
handmaid, knowest not, there wert born unto
the earth a babe. And lo, the dame o’ this
babe wert but a field’s woman. And lo, days
and days did pass until the fullness of the
babe’s days, and it stood in beauty past word
o’me.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and there wert a noble, and he did
pass, and lo, his brow was darked, and smile
had forsook his lips. And he came unto the
cot and there stood the babe, who wert now a
maid o’ lovely. And he spaked unto her and
said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“‘Come thou, and unto the lands of me
shall we make way. Thou art not o’ the fields,
but for the nobles.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And she spake not unto his word. And lo,
the mother of the babe came forth and this
man told unto her of this thing, that her babe
wert not of the field but for the nobled. And,
at the bidding of the noble, she spake, yea, the
maid should go unto his lands.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And time and time after the going, lo, no
<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>word came unto the mother. And within the
lands of the noble the maid lived, and lo, the
days wert sorry, and the paths held but
shadows, and nay smiles shed gold unto the
hours. And she smiled that this noble did
offer unto her much of royal stores. Yea,
gems, and gold, and all a maid might wish,
and she looked in pity unto the noble and
spake:</p>
<p class='c010'>“‘What hast thou? Lo, thou hast brought
forth of thy store and given unto me, and
what doth it buy? Thy lips are ever sorry and
thy hours dark. Then take thou these gifts
and keep within such an day as thine, for, hark
ye, my dame, the field’s woman, hath given
unto me that which setteth at a naught thy
gifts; for hark ye: mid thy dark o’ sorry I shall
spill a laugh, and it be a fairies’ wand, and
turneth dust to gold.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And she fled unto the sun’s paths of the
fields.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Verily do I to say unto thee, this, the
power of the fairies’ wand, is thine, thy gift of
thy field-mother, Earth. Then cast out that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>which earth-lands do offer unto thee and flee
with thy gift.”</p>
<p class='c013'>It is somewhat difficult to select an ending
for this chapter on the prose of Patience: the
material for it is so abundant and so varied,
but this “Parable of the Cloak” may perhaps
form a fitting finish:</p>
<p class='c012'>“There wert a man, and lo, he did to seek
and quest o’ sage, that which he did mouth
o’ermuch. And lo, he did to weave o’ such an
robe, and did to clothe himself therein. And
lo, ’twer sun ashut away, and cool and heat and
bright and shade.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, still did he to draw ’bout him the
cloak, and ’twer o’ the mouthings o’ the sage.
And lo, at a day ’twer sent abroad that Truth
should stalk ’pon Earth, and man, were he to
look him close, shouldst see.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, the man did draw ’bout him the
cloak, and did to wag him ‘Nay’ and ‘Nay,
’twer truth the sages did to mouth and I did
weave athin the cloak o’ me.’</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>“And then ’twer that Truth did seek o’
Earth, and she wert clad o’ naught, and seeked
the man, and begged that he would cast the
cloak and clothe o’ her therein. And lo, he
did to draw him close the cloak, and hid his
face therein, and wag him ’Nay,’ he did to
know her not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, she did to fetch her unto him
athrice, and then did he to wag him still a
‘Nay! Nay! Nay!’ And lo, she toucheth o’
the cloth o’ sage’s mouths and it doth fall
atattered and leave him clothed o’ naught, and
at a wishing. And he did seek o’ Truth, aye,
ever, and when he did to find, lo, she wagged
him nay, and nay, and nay.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>
<h2 class='c003'>CONVERSATIONS</h2></div>
<p class='c026'>“This be bread. If man knoweth not the grain
from which ’twer fashioned, what then? ’Tis bread.
Let man deny me this.”—<span class='sc'>Patience Worth.</span></p>
<p class='c004'>But after all, perhaps the truest conception
of the character and versatility of Patience can
be acquired from her “conversations.” The
word “conversation” I here loosely apply to all
that comes from her in the course of an evening,
excepting the work on her stories. The
poems and parables are usually woven into her
remarks with a sequence that suggests extemporaneous
production for the particular
occasion, although as a rule they are of general
application. Almost invariably they are
brought out by something she or someone
else has said, or as a tribute, a lesson or a comfort
to some person who is present. Her
songs, as she calls her poems, are freely given,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>apparently without a thought or a care as to
what may become of them. They seem to come
spontaneously, without effort, with no pause
for thought, no groping for the right word, and
to fall into their places as part of the spoken
rather than the written speech. So it is that
the term “conversation” in this connection is
made to include much that ordinarily would
not fall within that designation.</p>
<p class='c007'>One of the pleasures of an evening with Patience
is the uncertainty of the form of the
entertainment. Never are two evenings alike
in the general nature of the communications.
She adapts herself to circumstances and to the
company present, serious if they are bent on
serious subjects, merry if they are so; but seldom
will the serious escape without a little of
the merry, or the merry without a little of the
serious. Sometimes her own feelings seem to
have an influence. Always, however, she is
permitted to take her own course, except in
the case of a formal examination, to which she
readily responds if conducted with respect.
She may devote the evening largely to poetry,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>possibly varying the themes, as on one evening
when she gave a nature poem, one of a religious
character, a lullaby, a humorous verse and a
prayer, interspersed with discussion. She may
talk didactically with little or no interruption.
She may submit to a catechism upon religion,
philosophy, philology, or any subject that may
arise. She may devote an evening to a series of
little personal talks to a succession of sitters, or
she may elect just to gossip. “I be dame,” she
says, and therefore not averse to gossip. But
rarely will she neglect to write something on
whatever story she may have in hand. She
speaks of such writing as “weaving.” “Put
ye to weave,” she will say, and that means that
conversation is to stop for a time until a little
real work is accomplished.</p>
<p class='c007'>The conversations which follow are selected
to illustrate the variety of form referred to, as
well as to introduce a number of interesting
statements that throw light on the character of
the phenomena.</p>
<p class='c007'>Upon a certain evening the Currans had two
visitors, Dr. and Mrs. W. With Dr. W. and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>Mrs. C. at the board and Mrs. W. leaning over
it, Patience began:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Ah, hark! Here abe athree; yea, love,
faith and more o’ love! Thee hast for to hark
unto word I do put o’ them, not ye.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And then she told this tale of the Mite and
the Seeds:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Hark! Aneath the earth fell a seed, and
lay aside a Mite, a winged mite, who hid from
cold. Yea, and the Mite knew o’ the day o’er
the Earth’s crust, and spake unto the Seed, and
said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“‘The hours o’ day show sun and cloud,
aye, and the Earth’s crust holdeth grass
and tree. Aye, and men walk ’pon the
Earth.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“Aye, and the Seed did say unto the Mite:</p>
<p class='c010'>“‘Nay, there be a naught save Earth and
dark, for mine eye hath not beheld what thou
tellest of.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and the Mite spake it so:</p>
<p class='c010'>“‘’Tis dark and cold o’er the crust
o’ Earth, and thou and me awarm and
close ahere.’</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>“But the Seed spake out: ‘Nay, this be the
time I seek me o’er the Earth’s crust and see
the Day thou tellest of.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, he sent out leaf, and reached high.
And lo, when the leaf had pushed up from
’neath the crust, there were snow’s cut and cold,
and it died, and knew not the Day o’ the Mite:
for the time was not riped that he should seek
unto new days.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, the Stalk that had sent forth the
Seed, sent forth amore, and lo, again a one did
sink aside the Mite. And he spake to it of the
Day o’ Earth and said: ‘Thy brother sought
the Day, and it wert not time, and lo, he is no
more.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And he told of the days of Earth unto the
seed, and it spaked unto him and said: ‘This
day o’ thee meaneth naught to me. Lo, I shall
spring not a root, nor shall I to seek me the
days o’ Earth. Nay, I shall lay me close and
warm.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And e’en though the Mite spake unto the
Seed at the time when it wert ripe that it should
seek, lo, it lay, and Summer’s tide found it a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>naught, for it feeded ’pon itself, and lo, wert
not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And at a later tide did a seed to fall, and it
harked unto the Mite and waited the time, and
when it wert riped, lo, it upped and sought the
day. And it wert so as the Mite had spaked.
And the Seed grew into a bush.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, the winged Mite flew out: for it
had brought a brother out o’ the dark and unto
the Day, and the task wert o’er.</p>
<p class='c010'>“These abe like unto them who seek o’ the
words o’ me.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Now aweave thou.”</p>
<p class='c013'>Patience then wrote about two hundred
words of a story, after which Mrs. W. inquired
of Mr. C:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Don’t you ever try to write on the board?”
To which he replied facetiously, “No, I’m too
dignified.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Yea, he smirketh unto swine
and kicketh the nobles.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Then seeming to feel that the visitors were
<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>wanting something more personal than the
“Tale” she said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Alawk, they be ahungered, and did weave
a bit. Then hark. Here be.</p>
<p class='c010'>“What think ye, man? They do pucker
much o’er the word o’ me, and spat forth that
thou dost eat and smack o’ liking. Yea, but
hark! Who shed drop for Him but one o’ His,
yea, the Son o’ Him? Think ye this abe the
pack o’ me? Nay, and thou and thou and thou
shalt shed drops in loving for the pack, for it
be o’ Him. Now shall I to sing:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How doth the Mise-man greed,</div>
<div class='line'>And lay unto his store,</div>
<div class='line'>And seek him out the pence of Earth,</div>
<div class='line'>Wherein the hearts do rust?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How doth the Muse-man greed,</div>
<div class='line'>And seek him o’ the Day,</div>
<div class='line'>And word that setteth up a wag—</div>
<div class='line'>While hearts o’ Earth are filthed?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How doth the See-man greed?</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and how he opeth up his eye,</div>
<div class='line'>And seeth naught and telleth much—</div>
<div class='line'>While hearts of earth are hurt.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>How doth the Good-man greed,</div>
<div class='line'>Who dealeth o’ the Word?</div>
<div class='line'>He eateth o’ its flesh and casts but bone,</div>
<div class='line'>While hearts o’ Earth are woed.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How doth the Man-man greed?</div>
<div class='line'>He eateth o’ the store, yet holdeth ope</div>
<div class='line'>His hands and scattereth o’ bread</div>
<div class='line'>And hearts o’ Earth are fed.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>This then abe, and yet will be</div>
<div class='line'>Since time and time, and beeth ever.”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>As soon as this was read, she followed with
another song:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Drink ye unto me.</div>
<div class='line'>Drink ye deep, to me.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and seek ye o’ the Brew ye quaff,</div>
<div class='line'>For this do I to beg.</div>
<div class='line'>Seek not the wine o’ Summer’s sun,</div>
<div class='line'>That hid ’mid purpled vine,</div>
<div class='line'>And showeth there amid the Brew</div>
<div class='line'>Thou suppest as the Wine.</div>
<div class='line'>Seek not the drops o’ pool,</div>
<div class='line'>Awarmed aneath the sun,</div>
<div class='line'>And idly lapping at the brink</div>
<div class='line'>Of mosses’ lips, to sup.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>Seek not o’ vintage Earth doth hold.</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, unto thee this plea shall wake</div>
<div class='line'>The Wine that thou shouldst quaff.</div>
<div class='line'>For at the loving o’ this heart</div>
<div class='line'>The Wine o’ Love shall flow.</div>
<div class='line'>Then drink ye deep, ah, drink ye deep,</div>
<div class='line'>And drink ye deep o’ Love.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Yea, thine unto me, and mine to thee.”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c015'>After which she explained:</p>
<p class='c010'>“I did to fashion out a brew for her ayonder
and him ahere. And they did eat o’ it. Yea,
for they know o’ Him and know o’ the workings
o’ Him and drinked o’ the love o’ me as
the love o’ Him. Yea, and hark, there abe
much athin this pack for thee.”</p>
<p class='c013'>This, it will be observed, is rather a discourse
than a conversation, and it is often so, Patience
filling the evening with her own words; not as
exclusively so, however, as this would indicate:
for there is always more or less conversation
among the party, which it would profit nothing
to reproduce.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>The next sitting is somewhat more varied.
There were present Dr. X., a teacher of anatomy,
Mrs. X., Mrs. W. and Miss B. Dr. X.
sat at the board with Mrs. Curran:</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Eh, gad! Here be a one who
taketh Truth unto him and setteth the good
dame apace that she knoweth not the name o’
her. I tell thee ’tis he who knoweth her as a
sister, and telleth much o’ her, and naught he
speaketh oft holdeth her, and much he speaketh
holdeth little o’ her, and yet ever he holdeth
her unto him. He taketh me as truth, yea, he
knoweth he taketh naught and buildeth much,
and much and buildeth little o’ it. I track me
unto the door o’ him and knock and he heareth
me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This, of course, referred to Dr. X. and his
work, and it aroused some discussion, after
which Patience asked, “Would ye I sing?”
The answer being in the affirmative, she gave
this little verse, also directed to Dr. X.:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Out ’pon the sea o’ learning,</div>
<div class='line'>Floateth the barque o’ one aseek.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>Out ’pon troubled waters floateth the craft,</div>
<div class='line'>Abuilded staunch o’ beams o’ truth.</div>
<div class='line'>And though the waves do beat them high</div>
<div class='line'>And wash o’er and o’er the prow,</div>
<div class='line'>Fear thee not, for Truth saileth on.</div>
<div class='line'>Set thy beacon, then, to crafts not thine,</div>
<div class='line'>For thou hast a light for man.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c010'>“There, thou knowest me. I tell thee I
speak unto him who hath truth for his very
own. Set thee aweave.”</p>
<p class='c007'>The sitters complied and received about six
hundred words of the story, after which Mrs.
X. took the board, remarking as she did so that
she was afraid, which elicited this observation
from Patience:</p>
<p class='c010'>“She setteth aside the stream and seeth the
craft afloat and be at wishing for to sail, and
yet she would to see her who steereth.”</p>
<p class='c013'>Mrs. X. gave up her place to Miss B., a
teacher of botany, to whom Patience presented
this tribute:</p>
<p class='c010'>“The eye o’ her seeth but beauties and shutteth
up that which showeth darked, that that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>not o’ beautie setteth not within the see o’ her.
Yea, more; she knoweth how ’tis the dark and
what showeth not o’ beauty, at His touching
showeth lovely for the see o’ her.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Such an heart! Ah, thou shouldst feast
hereon. I tell thee she giveth unto multitudes
the heart o’ her; and such as she dealeth unto
earth, earth has need for much. She feasteth
her ’pon dusts and knoweth dust shall spring
forth bloom. Hurt hath set the heart o’ her,
and she hath packed up the hurt with petals.”</p>
<p class='c013'>Patience then turned her attentions again to
Dr. X. “He yonder,” she said, “hath much
aneath his skull’s-cap that he wordeth not.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Thus urged, Dr. X. inquired:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Does Patience prepare the manuscript she
gives in advance? It rather seems that she
reads the material to Mrs. Curran.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“See ye,” cried Patience, “he hath spoke
a thing that set aneath his skull’s-cap!” And
then, in answer to his question:</p>
<p class='c010'>“She who afashioneth loaf doth shake well
the grain-dust that husks show not. Then doth
<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>she for to brew and stir and mix, else the loaf
be not afit for eat.”</p>
<p class='c007'>By grain-dust she means flour or meal, and
she uses the word brew in its obsolete sense of
preparation for cooking. The answer may be
interpreted that she arranges the story in her
mind before its dictation, and as to her formal
work she has said many things to indicate that
such is her method. Dr. X. then asked:</p>
<p class='c007'>“Are these stories real happenings?”</p>
<p class='c007'>To which Patience replied:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Within the land o’ here [her land] be
packed the days o’ Earth, and thy day hath
its sister day ahere, and thy neighbor’s day and
thy neighbor’s neighbor’s day. And I tell thee,
didst thou afashion tale thou couldst ne’er
afashion lie, for all thou hast athin thy day
that thy put might show from the see o’ thee
hath been; at not thy time, yea, but it hath
been.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Then,” asked Dr. X., “should you have
transmitted through one who spoke another
language you would have used their tongue?”</p>
<p class='c007'>Patience answered:</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>“I pettiskirt me so that ye know the me of
me. Yea, and I do to take me o’ the store o’
her that I make me word for thee.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Pettiskirt” is a common expression of
hers to mean dress, in either a literal or a figurative
sense. The answer does not mean that
she is limited by Mrs. Curran’s vocabulary, but
is an affirmative response to the question.</p>
<p class='c007'>The word “put” in the preceding answer
is one that requires some explanation, for it is
frequently used by her, and makes some of her
sayings difficult to understand. She makes it
convey a number of meanings now obsolete,
but it usually refers to her writings, her words,
her sayings. She makes a noun of it, it will be
noticed, as well as a verb. In the foregoing
instance it means “tale,” and it has a relation
to the primary meaning of the verb, which is
to place. The words that are put down become
a “put,” and the writer becomes a “putter.”
To a lady who told her that she had
heard a sound like a bell in her ear, and asked
if it was Patience trying to communicate with
her, she answered dryly: “Think ye I be a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>tinkler o’ brass? Nay. I be a putter o’
words.” Further to illustrate this use of the
word, and also to throw an interesting light
upon her method of communication and the
reason for it, I present here a part of a conversation
in which a Dr. Z. was the interrogator.</p>
<p class='c012'><i>Dr. Z.</i>—“Why isn’t there some other means
you could use more easy to manipulate than
the ouija board?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“The hand o’ her (Mrs. Curran)
do I to put (write) be the hand o’ her, and ’tis
ascribe (the act of writing) that setteth the one
awhither by eyes-fulls she taketh in.”</p>
<p class='c007'>By this she seems to mean that if Mrs. Curran
tried to write for Patience with a pen or
pencil, the act, being always associated with
conscious thought, would set her consciousness
to work, and put Patience “awhither.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dr. Z.</i>—“How did you know this avenue
was open?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“I did to seek at crannies for to
put; aye, and ’twer the her o’ her who tireth
past the her o’ her, and slippeth to a naught o’
<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>putting; and ’twer the me o’ me at seek, aye,
and find. Aye, and ’twer so.”</p>
<p class='c007'>At the time Patience first presented herself
to Mrs. Curran, she (Mrs. Curran) was very
tired, and was sitting at the board with Mrs.
Hutchings, with her head, as she expresses it,
absolutely empty.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dr. Z.</i>—“Did you go forth to seek, or were
you sent?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“There be nay tracker o’ path
ne’er put thereon by sender.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dr. Z.</i>—“Did you know of the ouija board
and its use before?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Nay, ’tis not the put o’ me, the
word hereon. ’Tis the put o’ me at see o’
her.</p>
<p class='c010'>“I put athin the see o’ her, aye and ’tis the
see o’ ye that be afulled o’ the put o’ me, and
yet a put thou knowest not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“That which ye know not o’ thy day hath
slipped it unto her, and thence unto thee. And
thee knowest ’tis not the put o’ her; aye, and
thee knowest ’tis ne’er a putter o’ thy day there
be at such an put. Aye, and did he to put,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>’twould be o’ thy day and not the day o’ me.
And yet ye prate o’ why and whence and
where. I tell thee ’tis thee that knowest that
which ye own not.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dr. Z.</i>—“Why don’t we own it, Patience?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“’Tis at fear o’ gab.”</p>
<p class='c007'>It is no easy task to untangle that putting
of puts, but, briefly, it seems to mean that Patience
does not put her words on the board
direct, with the hands of Mrs. Curran, but
transmits her words through the mind or inner
vision of Mrs. Curran, and yet it is the word of
Patience and not of Mrs. Curran that is recorded.
This accords with Mrs. Curran’s impressions.
And thou knowest, Patience farther
says, that it is not the language of her,
and no writer of thy day would or could write
in such a language as I make use of.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>Returning to Dr. X. and his party. They
were present again a few days after the interview
just given, having with them a Miss J.,
a newspaper writer from an Ohio city. Dr. X.
in the meantime had thought much upon the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>phenomena, and Patience immediately directed
her guns upon the anatomist, in this
manner:</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Hark ye, lad, unto thee I do
speak. Thou hast a sack o’ the wares o’ me,
and thou hast eat therefrom. Yea, and thou
hast spat that which thou did’st eat, and eat it
o’er. And yet thou art not afulled.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Hark! Here be a trick that shall best thee
at thine own trick. Lo, thou lookest upon flesh
and it be but flesh. Yea, thou lookest unto thy
brother, and see but flesh. And yet thy
brother speakest word, and thou sayest: ‘Yea,
this is a man, aye, the brother o’ me.’ Then
doth death lay low thy brother, and he speak
not word unto thee, thou sayest: ‘Nay, this is
no man; nay, this is but clay.’ Then lookest
thou unto thy brother, and thou seest not the
him o’ him. Thou knowest not the him o’ him
(the soul) but the flesh o’ him only.</p>
<p class='c010'>“More I tell thee. Thy very babe wert not
flesh; yea, it were as dead afore the coming.
Yet, at the mother’s bearing, it setteth within
the flesh. And thou knowest it and speak, yea,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>this is a man. And yet I tell thee thou knowest
not e’en the him o’ him! Then doth it die,
’tis nay man, thou sayest. Yet, at the dying
and afore the bearing, ’twer what? The him
o’ him wert then, and now, and ever.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, I speak unto thee not through flesh,
and thou sayest: This is no man, yea, for thine
eyes see not flesh, yet thou knowest the me o’
me, and I speak unto thee with the me o’ me.
And thou art where upon thy path o’ learning!”</p>
<p class='c013'>There was some discussion following this
argument in which Dr. X. admitted that he
accepted only material facts and believed but
what he saw.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Man maketh temples that reach
them unto the skies, and yet He fashioneth a
gnat, and where be man’s learning!</p>
<p class='c010'>“The earth is full o’ what the blind in-man
seeth not. Ope thine eye, lad. Thou art
athin dark, and yet drink ye ever o’ the
light.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Dr. X.</i>—“That’s all right, Patience, and a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>good argument; but tell me where the him o’
him of my dog is.”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Thou art ahungered for what
be thine at the hand o’ thee. Thy dog hath far
more o’ Him than thy brothers who set them
as dogs and eat o’ dog’s eat. The One o’ One,
the All o’ All, yea, all o’ life holdeth the Him
o’ Him, thy Sire and mine! ’Tis the breath o’
Him that pulses earth. Thou asketh where
abides this thing. Aneath thy skull’s arch there
be nay room for the there or where o’ this!”</p>
<p class='c013'>Miss J. then took the board and Patience
said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“She taketh it she standeth well athin the
sight o’ me that she weareth the frock o’ me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This caused a laugh, for it was then explained
by the visitors that Miss J. had chosen
to wear a frock somewhat on the Puritan
order, having a gray cape with white cuffs and
collar, and had said she thought Patience
would approve of it.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Here be a one aheart ope, and
she hath the in-man who she proddeth that he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>opeth his eyes. Yea, she seest that which be
and thou seest not.”</p>
<p class='c007'>It was remarked that Patience was evidently
trying to be very nice to Miss J.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Nay, here be a one who tickleth
with quill, I did hear ye put. Think ye not a
one who putteth as me, be not a love o’ me?
Yea, she be. And I tell thee a something that
she will tell unto ye is true. Oft hath she
sought for word that she might put, and lo,
from whence she knoweth not it cometh.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Miss J. said this was true.</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Patience.</i>—“Shall I then sing unto thee,
wench?”</p>
<p class='c007'>Miss J. expressed delight, and the song followed.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, how do I to build me up my song for thee?</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and tell unto thee of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d shew unto thee His loving,</div>
<div class='line'>I’d shew unto thee His very face.</div>
<div class='line'>Do then to list to this my song.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Early hours, strip o’ thy pure,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the heart of Him.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>Earth, breathe deep thy busom,</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and rock the sea,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the breath of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Fields, burst ope thy sod,</div>
<div class='line'>And fling thee loose thy store,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the robe of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Skies, shed thou thy blue,</div>
<div class='line'>The depth of heaven,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the eyes of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Winter’s white, stand thou thick</div>
<div class='line'>And shed thy soft o’er earth,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the touch of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Spring, shed thou thy loosened</div>
<div class='line'>Laughter of the streams,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the voice of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Noon’s heat, and tire o’ earth,</div>
<div class='line'>Shed thou of rest to His,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the rest of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Evil days of earth,</div>
<div class='line'>Stride thou on and smite,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis the frown of Him.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Earth, this, the chant o’ me,</div>
<div class='line'>May end, as doth the works o’ man,</div>
<div class='line'>But hark ye; Earth holdeth all</div>
<div class='line'>That hath been;</div>
<div class='line'>And Spring’s ope, and sowing</div>
<div class='line'>O’ the Winter’s tide,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>Shall bear the Summer’s full</div>
<div class='line'>Of that that be no more.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>For, at the waking o’ the Spring,</div>
<div class='line'>The wraiths o’ blooms agone</div>
<div class='line'>Shall rise them up from out the mould</div>
<div class='line'>And speak to thee of Him.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Thus, the songs o’ me,</div>
<div class='line'>The works o’ thee,</div>
<div class='line'>The Earth’s own bloom,</div>
<div class='line'>Are HIM.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c013'>The interest of Dr. X. in this phenomenon
brought an eminent psychologist, associated
with one of the greatest state universities in
the country, some distance from Missouri, for
an interview with Patience. He shall be known
here as Dr. V. With him and Dr. X. was Dr.
K., a physician. Dr. V. sat at the board first,
and Patience said to him:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Here be a one, verily, that hath a sword.
Aye, and he doth to wrap it o’er o’ silks. Yea,
but I do say unto thee, he doth set the cups o’
measure at aright, and doth set not the word
o’ me as her ahere (Mrs. Curran). Nay, not
till he hath seen and tasted o’ the loaf o’ me;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>and e’en athen he would to take o’ the loaf and
crumb o’ it to bits and look unto the crumb
and wag much afore he putteth. And he wilt
be assured o’ the truth afore the putting.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This was discussed as a character delineation.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“I’d set at reasoning. Since the
townsmen do fetch aforth for the seek o’ me,
and pry aneath the me o’ me, then do thou
alike. Yea, put thou unto me.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“Why fear Death?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Thou shouldst eat o’ the loaf
(her writings). Ayea, ’tis right and meet that
flesh shrinketh at the lash.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Dr. V. was told of her poems on the fear of
death.</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“What do you think of the attempts
to investigate you? Is it right?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Ayea. And thou hast o’ me
the loaf o’ the me o’ me, and thou hast o’ it
afar more than thou hast o’ thy brother o’
earth, and yet they seek o’ me and seek ever.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“Have you ever lived?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“What! Think ye that I be a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>prater o’ thy path and ne’er atrod? Then
thou art afollied, for canst thou tell o’ here?”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“When did you live on earth?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“A seed aplanted be watched
for grow. Ayea, but the seed held athin the
palm be but a seed, and Earth hath seeds not
aplanted that she casteth forth, e’en as she
would to cast forth me, do I not to cloak me
much.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“I understand; but can you not
answer a little clearer the question I put?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“The time be not ariped for the
put o’ this.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“What does Lethe mean?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“This be a tracker! Ayea, ’tis
nay a word o’ thy day or yet the word o’ thy
brother, that meaneth unto me. I be a maker
o’ loaf for the hungered. Eat thou. ’Tis not
aright that thou shouldst set unto the feast
athout thou art fed.”</p>
<p class='c007'>By this she seemed to mean that she wanted
him to read her writings and see what it is she
is endeavoring to do. She continued:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Brother, this be not a trapping o’ thy
<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>sword, the seeking o’ me. Nay, ’tis ahind a
cloak I do for to stand, that this word abe, and
not me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Mr. Curran here stated that this had ever
been so; that Patience had obscured herself so
that her message could not be clouded.</p>
<p class='c027'><i>Patience.</i>—“Aright. I do sing.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! Ayea, thou art gone!</div>
<div class='line'>Gone, and earth doth stand it stark.</div>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! The even’s breath</div>
<div class='line'>Doth breathe it unto me</div>
<div class='line'>In echo soft; yea, but sharped,</div>
<div class='line'>And cutting o’ this heart.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! Aye, thou art gone!</div>
<div class='line'>The day is darked, and sun</div>
<div class='line'>Hath sorried sore and wrapped him in the dark.</div>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! This heart doth drip o’ drops</div>
<div class='line'>With sorry singing o’ this song.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! Yea, thou art gone!</div>
<div class='line'>And where, beloved, where?</div>
<div class='line'>Doth yonder golden shaft o’ light</div>
<div class='line'>That pierceth o’ the cloud</div>
<div class='line'>Then speak unto this heart?</div>
<div class='line'>Art thou athin the day’s dark hours?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>Hast thou then hid from sight o’ me,</div>
<div class='line'>And yet do know mine hour?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! What then hath Earth?</div>
<div class='line'>What then doth day to bring</div>
<div class='line'>To this the sorry-laden heart o’ me,</div>
<div class='line'>That weepeth blood drops here?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Gone! Gone! Yea, but hark!</div>
<div class='line'>For I did trick the sorry, loved;</div>
<div class='line'>For where e’er thou art am I.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, this love o’ me shall follow thee</div>
<div class='line'>Unto the Where, and thou shalt ever know</div>
<div class='line'>That though this sorry setteth me</div>
<div class='line'>I be where’er thou art.”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>After this Dr. K., who resides in St. Louis,
took the board.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Here abe a townsman. Aye,
a Sirrah who knoweth men and atruth doth
ne’er acloak the blade o’ him as doth brother
ayonder. Ayea, ahind a chuckle beeth fires.</p>
<p class='c010'>“There abe weave ’pon the cloth o’ me, yea,
but ’tis nay ariped the time that I do weave.
Yea, thou hast a pack o’ tricks. Show unto
me, then, thine.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Here Dr. V. asked: “Do you know Dr.
James?”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>This referred to the late Dr. William James,
the celebrated psychologist of Harvard.</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“I telled a one o’ the brothers
and the neighbors o’ thy day, and he doth
know.”</p>
<p class='c007'>She had given such an answer to a frequent
visitor who had inquired as to her knowledge
of several eminent men long since dead. It
was considered an affirmative answer.</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“Have you associated with Dr.
James?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Hark! Unto thee I do say
athis; ’tis the day’s break and Earth shall
know, e’en athin thy day, much o’ the Here.</p>
<p class='c010'>“This, the brother o’ ye, the seeker o’ the
Here, hath set a promise so, and ’tis for to be,
I say unto thee. Thou knowest ’tis the word
o’ him spaked in loving. Yea, for such a man
as the man o’ him wert, standeth as a beacon
unto the Here.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. V.</i>—“Could Dr. James, by seeking as
you did, communicate with someone here as
you are doing?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“This abe so; he who seeketh abe
<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>alike unto thee and thee. Ayea, thee and thy
brother do set forth with quill, and thou dost
set aslant, and with thy hand at the right o’
thee. And thy brother doth trace with the
hand at the left of him. And ’tis so, thou puttest
not as him. This, the quill o’ me, be for
the put o’ me, and doth he seek and know the
trick o’ tricks o’ sending out a music with the
quill o’ me, it might then be so.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This was interpreted as meaning that if Dr.
James could find one who had the conditions
surrounding Mrs. Curran, and was able to
master the rhythm which Patience uses to give
the matter to her, then he could do it.</p>
<p class='c007'>When the record of the foregoing interview
was being copied, Mrs. Curran felt an impulse
to write. Taking the board, Patience indicated
that she had called, and at once set forth, apparently
for Dr. V., the following explanation
of her method of communication and the principle
upon which it is based:</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Aye, ’tis a tickle I be. Hark,
there be a pulse—Nay, she (Mrs. Curran)
putteth o’ the word! Alist.—There abe a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>throb; yea, the songs o’ Earth each do throb
them, like unto the throbbing o’ the heart that
beareth them. Yea, and there be a kinsman o’
the heart that beareth them. Yea, and there
be a kinsman o’ thee who throbbeth as dost
thou. Yea, and he knoweth thee as doth nay
brother o’ thee whose throb be not as thine.
So ’tis, the drop that falleth athin the sea, doth
sound out a silvered note that no man heareth.
Yet its brother drops and the drop o’ it do to
make o’ the sea’s voice. Aye, and the throb o’
the sea be the throb o’ it. So, doth thy brother
seek out that he make word unto thee from the
Here, he then falleth aweary. For thee of
Earth do hark not unto the throb. And be the
one aseeked not attuned unto the throb o’ him
he findeth, ’tis nay music. So ’tis, what be the
throb o’ me and the throb o’ her ahere, be nay
a throb o’ music’s weave for him aseek.</p>
<p class='c010'>“I tell thee more. The throb hath come
unto thy day long and long. Yea, they be
afulled o’ throb, and yet nay man taketh up
the throbbing as doth the sea. The drop o’ me
did seek and find, and throb met throb o’
<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>loving. Yea, and even as doth the sea to
throb out the silvered note o’ drop, even so
doth she to throb out the love o’ me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This seems, in effect, a declaration that communications
of this character are a matter of
attunement, possible only between two natures
of identical vibrations, one seeking and the
other receptive. It indicates too that her
rhythmical speech has an influence upon
the facility of her utterances. At another
time she described her own seeking in this
verse:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How have I sought!</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, how have I asought,</div>
<div class='line'>And seeked me ever through the earth’s hours,</div>
<div class='line'>Amid the damp, cool moon, when winged scrape</div>
<div class='line'>Doth sound and cry unto the day</div>
<div class='line'>The waking o’ the hosts!</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, and ’mid the noon’s heat,</div>
<div class='line'>When Earth doth wither ’neath the sun,</div>
<div class='line'>And rose doth droop from sun’s-kiss,</div>
<div class='line'>That stole the dew; and ’mid the wastes</div>
<div class='line'>O’ water where they whirl and rage,</div>
<div class='line'>And seeked o’ word that I</div>
<div class='line'>Might put to answer thee.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>Ayea, from days have I then stripped</div>
<div class='line'>The fulness of their joys, and pryed</div>
<div class='line'>The very buds that they might ope for thee.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and sought the days apast,</div>
<div class='line'>That I might sing them unto thee.</div>
<div class='line'>And ever, ever, cometh unto me</div>
<div class='line'>Thy song o’ why? why? why?</div>
<div class='line'>And then, lo, I found athin this heart</div>
<div class='line'>The answer to thy song.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, it chanteth sweet unto this ear,</div>
<div class='line'>And filleth up the song.</div>
<div class='line'>Do hark thee, hark unto the song,</div>
<div class='line'>For answer to thy why? why? why?</div>
<div class='line'>I sing me Give! Give! Give!</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, ever Give!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>When the foregoing verse was received, Dr.
X. was again present, this time with his wife
and two physicians, Dr. R. and Dr. P. It will
have been observed that many doctors of many
kinds have “sat at the feet” of Patience
Worth, but all, as I have said, have come as
the friends of friends of Mrs. Curran, upon
her invitation, or upon that of Mr. Curran.
On this occasion Patience began:</p>
<p class='c010'>“They do seek o’ me, ever; that they do
<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>see the pettiskirt o’ me, and eat not o’ the loaf!
(More interested in the phenomenon than the
words.) Ayea, but he ahere (Dr. R.) hath a
wise pate. Aye, he seeketh, and deep athin the
heart o’ him sinketh seed o’ the word o’ me.
Aye, even though he doth see the me o’ me
athrough the sage’s eye o’ him, still shall he
to love the word o’ me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>After due acknowledgments from Dr. R.,
she continued:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, brother, hark unto the word o’ me,
for thou dost seek amid the fields o’ Him!
Aye, and ’tis, thou knowest, earth’s men that
be afar amore awry athin the in-man than in
the flesh. And ’tis the in-man o’ men thou
knowest.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Dr. R., a neurologist, gave hearty assent.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Put thou unto me. (Question me.) ’Tis
awish I be that ye weave.”</p>
<p class='c007'><i>Dr. R.</i>—“Do you see through Mrs. Curran’s
eyes and hear through her ears?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Even as thou hast spoke, it be.
Aye, and yet I say me ’tis the me o’ me that
knoweth much she heareth and seeth not.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>Then to a question had she ever talked before
with anyone, she said: “Anaught save the
flesh o’ me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“Fetch ye the wheel,” she commanded,
“that I do sit and spin.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This was one of her ways of saying that she
desired to write on her story, and she dictated
several hundred words of it, after which Dr. P.
took the board and she said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“What abe ahere? A one who seeth sorry
and maketh merry! Yea, a one who leaveth
the right hand o’ him unto its task, and setteth
his left at doing awry o’ the task o’ its brothers.
Aye, he doeth the labors o’ his brother, aye,
and him. Do then, aweave.”</p>
<p class='c007'>In compliance some more of the story was
written, and then Dr. R. “wondered” why he
could not write for Patience, to which she answered:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Hark unto me, thou aside. Thou shalt
put (say) ’tis her ahere (<i>i.e.</i>, Mrs. Curran, who
does it); ayea, and say much o’ word, and e’en
set down athin thy heart thy word o’ what I
be, and yet I tell thee, I be me! Aye, ever,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>and the word o’ me shall stand, e’en when thou
and thou art ne’er ahere!</p>
<p class='c010'>“E’en he who doth know not o’ the Here
hath felt the tickle o’ my word, and seeketh
much this hearth.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Then eat thee well and fill thee up, and
drink not o’ the brew o’ me and spat forth the
sup. Nay, fill up thy paunch. ’Twill merry
thee!”</p>
<p class='c007'>Dr. P. asked her a question about her looks.</p>
<p class='c007'>“’Tis a piddle he putteth,” she said.</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>And now we come to a sitting of a lighter
character. There were present at this Dr. and
Mrs. D., Mr. and Mrs. M. and Mrs. and
Miss G.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Aflurry I be!” cried Patience. “Aye, for
the pack o’ me be afulled o’ song and weave,
and e’en word to them ahere.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, but afirst there be a weave, for the
thrift-bite eateth o’ me.” (The bite of her
thrifty nature.)</p>
<p class='c007'>Some of the story followed and then she said
to Mrs. M., who sat at the board:</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>“Here be aone who doth to lift up the lid
o’ the brew’s pot, that she see athin! Aye,
Dame, there abe but sweets athin the brew for
thee. Amore, for e’en tho’ I do brew o’ sweets
and tell unto thee, I be a dealer o’ sours do I
to choose! Ayea, and did I to put the spatting
o’ thee athin the brew, aye verily ’twould be
asoured a bit!” Then deprecatingly: “’Tis a
piddle I put!</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, for him aside who sitteth that he
drink o’ this brew do I to sing; fetch thee
aside, thee the trickster o’ thy day!”</p>
<p class='c007'>There being so many “tricksters” in the
room, they were at a loss to know which one
she meant. Mr. C. asked if she meant Dr. D.,
but Patience said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Thinkest thou he who setteth astraight the
wry doth piddle o’ a song? Anay, to him who
musics do I to sing.”</p>
<p class='c007'>This referred to Mr. G., who is a musician
and a composer, and he took the board. Patience
at once gave him this song:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Nodding, nodding, ’pon thy stem,</div>
<div class='line'>Thou bloom o’ morn,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>Nodding, nodding to the bees,</div>
<div class='line'>Asearch o’ honey’s sweet.</div>
<div class='line'>Wilt thou to droop and wilt the dance o’ thee,</div>
<div class='line'>To vanish with the going o’ the day?</div>
<div class='line'>Hath the tearing o’ the air o’ thy sharped thorn</div>
<div class='line'>Sent musics up unto the bright,</div>
<div class='line'>Or doth thy dance to mean anaught</div>
<div class='line'>Save breeze-kiss ’pon thy bloom?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Hath yonder songster harked to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>And doth he sing thy love?</div>
<div class='line'>Or hath he tuned his song of world’s wailing o’ the day?</div>
<div class='line'>Doth morn shew thee naught save thy garden’s wall</div>
<div class='line'>That shutteth thee away, a treasure o’ thy day?</div>
<div class='line'>Doth yonder hum then spell anaught,</div>
<div class='line'>Save whirring o’ the wing that hovereth</div>
<div class='line'>O’er thy bud to sup the sweet?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, garden’s deep, afulled o’ fairies’ word,</div>
<div class='line'>And creeped o’er with winged mites,</div>
<div class='line'>Where but the raindrops’ patter telleth thee His love—</div>
<div class='line'>Doth all this vanish then, at closing o’ the day?</div>
<div class='line'>Anay. For He hath made a one who seeketh here,</div>
<div class='line'>And storeth drops, and song, and hum, and sweets,</div>
<div class='line'>And of these weaveth garland for the earth.</div>
<div class='line'>From off his lute doth drip the day of Him.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>Patience then turned her attention to Mr.
M., saying:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Ayea, he standeth afar from the feasting
place and doth to smack him much!”</p>
<p class='c007'>Mr. M. took the board, and she began to
talk to him in an intimate way about the varying
attitudes of people toward her and her
work, and what they say of her:</p>
<p class='c010'>“I be a dame atruth,” she said, “and I tell
thee the word o’ wag that shall set thy day,
meaneth anaught but merry to me. Hark! I
put a murmur o’ thy day, for at the supping o’
this cup the earth shall murmur so:</p>
<p class='c010'>“’Tis but the chatter o’ a wag! Aye, the
putting o’ the mad! ’Tis piddle! Yea, the
trapping o’ a fool! Yea, ’tis but the dreaming
o’ the waked! Aye, the word o’ a wicked
sprite! Yea, and telleth naught and putteth
naught!</p>
<p class='c010'>“And yet, do harken unto me. They then
shall seek to taste the brew and sniff the whiffing
o’ the scent; ayea, and stop alonger that
they feast! And lo, ’twill set some asoured, and
some asweet; aye and some, ato (too), shall
<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>fill them upon the words THEY do to put o’
me, and find them filled o’ their own put, and
lack the room for eat o’ the loaf o’ me. ’Tis
piddle, then! Aye, and yet I say me so, ’tis
bread, and bread be eat though it be but sparrows
that do seek the crumb. Then what care
ye? For bake asurely shall be eat!”</p>
<p class='c007'>This is a point she often makes, and strives
earnestly to impress—that whatever she may
be, whatever the world may think she is, there
is substance in her words. It is bread, and
will be eaten, if only by the sparrows. So, she
is content. She has put this thought, somewhat
pathetically, into the little verse which
follows:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Loth as Night to dark o’ Day,</div>
<div class='line'>Loth do I to sing.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, but doth the Day aneed a song,</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis they, o’ Him,</div>
<div class='line'>The songsters o’ the Earth,</div>
<div class='line'>Do sing them on, to Him.</div>
<div class='line'>What though ’tis asmiled? And what</div>
<div class='line'>Though ’tis nay aseeked o’ such a song?</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, what though ’tis sung ’mid dark?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>’Tis I would sing,</div>
<div class='line'>Do thee to list, or nay.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>“I be a dame who knoweth o’ the hearth.
Aye, and do to know o’ the hearts o’ men,” she
said to Mrs. D., who next took the place with
Mrs. Curran. “Ayea, and do to put o’ that
athin the hearts o’ them that doth tickle o’ their
merry! This be a tale for her ahere.”</p>
<h3 class='c021'><span class='sc'>The Story of the Herbs</span></h3>
<p class='c012'>“Lo, there wert a dame and her neighbor’s
dame and her neighbor’s dame. And they did
to plant them o’ their gardens full. And lo,
at a day did come unto the garden’s ope a
stranger, who bore him of a bloom-topped
herb. And lo, he spaked unto the dame who
stood athin the sun-niche that lay at the garden’s
end, and he did tell unto her of the herb
he bore. And lo, he told that he would give
unto her one of these, and to her neighbor
dame a one, atoo (also), and to her neighbor
dame a one atoo, and he then would leave the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>garden’s place and come at the fulling o’ the
season-tide when winter’s bite did sear, and
that he then would seek them out, and they
should shew unto him the fulling o’ the herb.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, he went him out unto the neighbor’s
dame and telled unto her the same, and
to her neighbor’s dame the same, and they did
seek one the other and tell o’ all the stranger
had told unto them. And each had sorry, for
feared ’twer the cunger o’ the wise men, and
each aspoke her that she would to care and
care for this the herb he did to leave, and that
she would have at the fulling o’ the season the
herb that stood at the fullest bloom. And each
o’ the dames did speak it that this herb o’ her
should be the one waxed stronger at the fulling.
And lo, none told unto the other o’ how
this would to be.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, the first o’ dames did plant her
herb adeep and speak little, and lo, her neighbor
dames did word much o’ the planting, and
carried drops from out the well that the herbs
might full. And lo, they did pluck o’ the first
bud that them that did follow should be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>afuller. And lo, the dame afirst o’ the garden
the stranger did to seek, did look with sunked
heart at the thriving o’ the herbs o’ the neighbor
dames. And lo, she wept thereon, and
’twer that her well did dry, and yet she seeked
not the wells of her sisters. Nay, but did weep
upon the earth about the herb, and lo, it did
to spring it up. And lo, she looked not with
greed upon her sister’s herb; nay, for at the
caring for the bloom, lo, she loved its bud and
wept that she had nay drop to give as drink
unto it.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, at a certain day the stranger came
and did seek the dames, and came him unto
her garden where the herb did stand, and he
bore the herbs of her sisters, and they wert tall
and full grown and filled o’ bloom. And he
did to put the herb o’ her sisters anext the herb
o’ her, and lo, the herb o’ her did spring it up,
and them o’ her sisters shrunked to but a twig.
And he did call unto the dames and spake:</p>
<p class='c010'>“‘Lo, have ye but fed thy herb that it be
full o’ bloom, that thou shouldst glad thee o’er
thy sister? And lo, the herb o’ her hath
<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>drunked her tears shed o’ loving, and standeth
sweet-bloomed from out the tears o’ her.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, the herb did flower aneath their
very eyes. And lo, the flowering wert fulled
o’ dews-gleam, and ’twer the sweet o’ her heart,
yea, the dew o’ heaven.”</p>
<p class='c013'>Following this pretty parable someone
spoke of a newspaper article that had appeared
that day, and Patience remarked:</p>
<p class='c007'>“’Tis a gab o’ fool. Aye, and the gab o’
fool be like unto a spring that be o’erfull o’
drops, ’tis ne’er atelling when it breaketh out
its bounds.”</p>
<p class='c007'>With this sage observation she dismissed the
“fool” as unworthy of further consideration,
and gave this poem:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Do I to love the morn,</div>
<div class='line'>When Earth awakes, and streams</div>
<div class='line'>Aglint o’ sun’s first gold,</div>
<div class='line'>As siren’s tresses thred them through the fields;</div>
<div class='line'>When sky-cup gleameth as a pearl;</div>
<div class='line'>When sky-hosts wake, and leaf bowers</div>
<div class='line'>Wave aheavied with the dew?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>Do I to love the eve,</div>
<div class='line'>When white the moon doth show,</div>
<div class='line'>And frost’s sweet sister, young night’s breath,</div>
<div class='line'>Doth stand aglistened ’pon the blades;</div>
<div class='line'>When dark the shadow deepeth,</div>
<div class='line'>Like to the days agone that stand</div>
<div class='line'>As wraiths adraped o’ black</div>
<div class='line'>Along the garden’s path;</div>
<div class='line'>When sweet the nestlings twitter</div>
<div class='line'>’Neath the wing of soft and down</div>
<div class='line'>That hovereth it there within</div>
<div class='line'>The shadows deep atop the tree?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Do I to love the mid-hours deep—</div>
<div class='line'>The royal color o’ the night?</div>
<div class='line'>For earth doth drape her purpled,</div>
<div class='line'>And jeweled o’er athin this hour.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Do I to love these hours, then,</div>
<div class='line'>As the loved o’ me?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, for at the morn,</div>
<div class='line'>Lo, do I to love the eve!</div>
<div class='line'>And at the eve,</div>
<div class='line'>Lo, do I to love the morn!</div>
<div class='line'>And at the morn and eve,</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis night that claimeth me.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>A little of the reasoning of Patience upon
Earth questions may appropriately come in
here. The Currans, with a single visitor, had
talked at luncheon of various things, beginning
with music and ending with capital punishment,
the latter suggested by an execution
which at the moment was attracting national
attention. When they took the board, after
luncheon, Patience said:</p>
<p class='c010'>“List thee. Earth sendeth up much note.
Yea, and some do sound them at wry o’ melody,
and others sing them true. And lo, they who
sing awry shall mingle much and drown in
melody. And I tell thee, o’er and above shall
sound the note o’ me!”</p>
<p class='c007'>And then she gave them to understand that
she had listened to their discussion!</p>
<p class='c010'>“Ye spake ye of eye for eye. Yea, and
tooth for tooth. Yea, but be thy brother’s
eye not the ope o’ thine, then ’tis a measure
less the full thou hast at taking o’ the eye o’
him. Yea, and should the tooth o’ him put
crave for carrion, and thine for sweets, then
how doth the tooth o’ him serve thee?”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>Here the sitters asked: “How about a life
for a life, Patience?”</p>
<p class='c010'><i>Patience.</i>—“Ye fill thy measure full o’ sands
that trickle waste at each and every putting.
I tell thee thou hast claimed life; aye, and
life be not thine or yet thy brother’s for the
taking or giving. Yea, and such an soul hath
purged at the taking or giving, and rises to
smile at thy folly.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Aye, and more. List! The earth’s baggage,
hate, and might, and scorn, fall at earth’s
leave, a dust o’ naught, like the dust o’ thy
body crumbleth.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Thou canst strip the body, yea, but the
soul defieth thee!”</p>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'>The visitor referred to in the preceding talk
is a frequent guest of the Currans, and is one
of the loved ones of Patience. This visitor,
who is a widow, remarked one evening that
Patience was deep and lived in a deep
place.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Aye,” said Patience, “a deeper than word.
There be ahere what thou knowest abetter far
<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>than word o’ me might tell. (This seems to
refer to the visitor’s husband.) Ayea thou
hungereth, and bread be thine, for from off
lips that spaked not o’ the land o’ here in word
o’ little weight, thou hast supped of love, and
know the path that be atrod by him shall be
atrod even so by thee, e’en tho’ thou shouldst
find the mountain’s height and pits o’ depth
past Earth’s tung.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Shouldst thou at come o’ here to hark unto
the sound of this voice, thinkest thou that
heights, aye or depths, might keep thee from
there? And even so, doth not the one thou
seeketh too, haste e’en now to find the path
and waiteth?</p>
<p class='c010'>“Then thinkest thou this journey be lone?
Nay, I tell thee, thou art areach e’en past the
ye o’ ye, and he areach ato. Then shall the
path’s ope be its end and beginning. In love
is the end and beginning of things.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, yea, yea, the earth suppeth o’ the
word o’ me, and e’en at the supping stoppeth
and speaketh so. What that one not o’ me
doth brew. Thou knowest this, dame. Aye,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>but what then? And why doth not the blood
o’ me speak unto me?</p>
<p class='c010'>“’Tis a merry I be. Lo, have I not fetched
forth unto a day that holdeth little o’ the blood
o’ me, that I might deal alike unto my brother
and bring forth word that be ahungered for
aye, and they speak them o’ her ahere and wag
and hark not? Yea, and did the blood o’ them
spake out unto their very ears I vow me
’twould set the earth ariot o’ fearing. Yea,
man loveth blood that hath not flowed, but
sicketh o’er spilled blood. Yea, then weave.”</p>
<p class='c007'>There was some discussion following this, to
the effect that whatever explanations might be
given of this phenomenon, many would believe
in Patience Worth as an independent personality,
which brought from her the following
discourse which may well conclude these conversations:</p>
<p class='c012'>“Yea, the tooth o’ him who eateth up the
flesh I did to cloak me athin, shall rot and he
shalt wither. Aye, and the word o’ me shalt
stand. Fires but bake awell.</p>
<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>“Sweet hath the sound of the word o’ Him
asounded unto the ears o’ Earth that hark
not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and He hath beat upon the busom of
Earth and sounded out a loud noise, and Earth
harkened not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And He hath sung thro’ the mother’s songs
o’ Earth, and Earth harkened not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and He hath sent His own with word,
and Earth harkened not.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Then ’tis Earth’s own folly that batheth
her.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and Folly cometh astreaming ribbands,
and showering color, and grinning ’pon
his way.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, but Folly masketh and leadeth Earth
and man assuredly unto Follies pit—self.
And self is blind.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Then whence doth Earth to turn for aid?
For Folly followeth not the blind, and the
voice of him who falleth unto the pit of Folly
soundeth out a loud note. Yea, and it echoeth
’self.’</p>
<p class='c010'>“And lo, the Earth filled up o’ self, hearketh
<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>not unto the words of Him, the King of
Wisdom.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, and I say unto thee, though them o’
Him fall pierced and rent athin the flow o’
their own blood thro’ the self-song o’ his
brother, he doeth this for Him.</p>
<p class='c010'>“And the measuring rod shall weight out
for him who packeth the least o’ self athin
him, afull o’ measure, and light for him who
packeth heavy o’ self.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Ayea, and more. I speak me o’ lands
wherein the high estate be self. Yea, yea, yea,
o’ thy lands do I to speak. Woe unto him
who feareth that might shall slay! Self may
wield a mighty blow, but it slayeth never.</p>
<p class='c010'>“’Tis as the dame who watcheth o’er her
brood, and lo, this one hath sorry, and that one
hath sorry. And she flitteth here and yon,
and lo, afore she hath fetched out the herbs,
they sleep them peaceful. So shall it be at
this time. The herbs shall be fetched forth
but lo, the lands shall sleep them peaceful.</p>
<p class='c010'>“Yea, for Folly leadeth, and Wisdom warreth
Folly.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>
<h2 class='c003'>RELIGION<br/> <br/><span class='c028'>“Teach me that I be Ye.”</span></h2></div>
<p class='c004'>And now we well may ask: What is the purpose
of all this? Here we appear to have an
invisible intelligence, speaking an obsolete
language, producing volumes of poetry containing
many evidences of profound wisdom.
So far as I have been able to find out, no such
phenomenon has occurred before since the
world began. Do not misunderstand that assertion.
There is nothing extraordinary in the
manner of its coming, as I have said before.
The publications of the Society for Psychical
Research are filled with examples of communications
received in the same or a similar way.
The fact that makes this phenomenon stand
out, that altogether isolates it from everything
else of an occult nature, is the character and
quality of its literature. Literature is something
<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>tangible, something that one can lay
hands on, so to speak. It is in a sense physical;
it can be seen with the eyes. And this literature
is the physical evidence which Patience
Worth presents of herself as a separate and
distinct personality.</p>
<p class='c007'>But why is it contributed? Is there in it
any intimation or assertion of a definite purpose?</p>
<p class='c007'>If we may assume that Patience is what she
seems to be—a voice from another world, then
indeed we may discern a purpose. She has a
message to deliver, and she gives the impression
that she is a messenger.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Do eat that which I offer thee,” she says.
“’Tis o’ Him. I but bear the pack apacked
for the carry o’ me by Him.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Constantly she speaks of herself as bearing
food or drink in her words. “I bid thee eat,”
she said to one, “and rest ye, and eat amore,
for ’tis the wish o’ me that ye be filled.” The
seed, the loaf, the cup, are frequently used
symbolically when referring to her communications.</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>“There be a man who buyeth grain and he
telleth his neighbor and his neighbor’s neighbor,
and lo, they come asacked and clamor for
the grain. And what think ye? Some do
make price, and yet others bring naught. But
I be atelling ye, ’tis not a price I beg. Nay,
’tis that ye drink my cup.”</p>
<p class='c007'>“’Tis truth o’ earth that ’tis the seed
aplanted deep that doth cause the harvester for
to watch. For lo, doth he to hold the seed
athin (within) his hand, ’tis but a seed. And
aplanted he doth watch him in wondering.
Verily do I say, ’tis so with me. I be aplanted
deep; do thee then to watch.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And with greater significance she has exclaimed:
“Morn hath broke, and ye be the first
to see her light. Look ye wide-eyed at His
workings. He hath offered ye a cup.”</p>
<p class='c007'>It is thus she announces herself to be a
herald of a new day, a bearer of tidings
divinely commissioned.</p>
<p class='c007'>What, then, is her message? For answer
it may be said that it is at once a revelation, a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>religion and a promise. Whatever we may
think of the nature of this phenomenon, Patience
herself is a revelation, and there are
many revelations in her words. The religion
she presents is not a new one. It is as old
as that given to the world nineteen centuries
ago; for fundamentally it is the same. It is
that religion, stripped of all the doctrines and
creeds and ceremonials and observances that
have grown up about it in all the ages since
His coming, and paring it down to the point
where it can be expressed by the one word—Love.
Love, going out to fellow man, to all
nature and overflowing toward God.</p>
<p class='c007'>In the consideration of this religion let us
begin at the beginning, at the ground, so to
speak, with this expression of love for the loveless:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, could I love thee,</div>
<div class='line'>Thou, the loveless o’ the earth,</div>
<div class='line'>And pry aneath the crannies</div>
<div class='line'>Yet untouched by mortal hand</div>
<div class='line'>To send therein this love o’ mine—</div>
<div class='line'>Thou creeping mite, and winged speck,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>And whirled waters o’ the mid o’ sea</div>
<div class='line'>Where no man seeth thee?</div>
<div class='line'>And could I love thee, the days</div>
<div class='line'>Unsunned and laden with hate o’ sorrying?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, could I love thee,</div>
<div class='line'>Thou who beareth blight;</div>
<div class='line'>And thou the fruit bescorched</div>
<div class='line'>And shrivelling, to fall unheeded</div>
<div class='line'>’Neath thy mother-stalk?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, could I love thee, love thee?</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, for Him who loveth thee,</div>
<div class='line'>And blightest but through loving;</div>
<div class='line'>Like to him who bendeth low the forest’s king</div>
<div class='line'>To fashion out a mast.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Love for everything is the essence of her
thought and of her song. And as she thus
sings for the loveless, so she sings for the
wearied ones and the failures of the earth:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I’d sing.</div>
<div class='line'>Wearied word adropped by weary ones,</div>
<div class='line'>And broked mold afashioned out by wearied hands;</div>
<div class='line'>A falter-song sung through tears o’ wearied one;</div>
<div class='line'>A fancied put o’ earth’s fair scene</div>
<div class='line'>Afallen at awry o’ weariness. Love’s task</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>Unfinished, aye, o’ertaken by sore weariness—</div>
<div class='line'>O’ thee I’d sing.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Aye, and put me such an songed-note</div>
<div class='line'>That earth, aye, and heaven, should hear;</div>
<div class='line'>And thou, aye all o’ ye, the soul-songs</div>
<div class='line'>O’ my brothers, be afinished,</div>
<div class='line'>At the closing o’ my song.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Aye, and wearied, aye and wearied, I’d sing.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d sing for them, the loved o’ Him,</div>
<div class='line'>And brothers o’ thee and me. Amen.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This is the prelude and now comes the song:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I choose o’ the spill</div>
<div class='line'>O’ love and word and work,</div>
<div class='line'>The waste o’ earth, to build.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ye hark unto the sages,</div>
<div class='line'>And oft a way-singer’s song</div>
<div class='line'>Hath laden o’erfull o’ truth,</div>
<div class='line'>And wasteth ’pon the air,</div>
<div class='line'>And falleth not unto thine ear.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Think ye He scattereth whither</div>
<div class='line'>E’en such an grain? Nay.</div>
<div class='line'>And do ye seek o’ spill</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>And put unto thy song,</div>
<div class='line'>’Twill fill its emptiness.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ye seek to sing but o’ thy song,</div>
<div class='line'>And ’tis an empty strain. ’Tis need</div>
<div class='line'>O’ love’s spill for to fill.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>The spill of earth, the love that goes unnoticed
and unappreciated, the words that are
unheard or unheeded, the work that seems to
be for naught—none of these is waste. A song
it is for the wearied ones, the heart-sick and
discouraged, “the loved of Him and brothers
of thee and me.”</p>
<hr class='c029' />
<p class='c007'>And yet she calls them waste but to show
that they are not. “The waste of earth,” she
says, “doth build the Heaven,” and this is the
theme of much of her song.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Earth hath filled it up o’ waste and waste.</div>
<div class='line'>The sea’s fair breast, that heaveth as a mother’s,</div>
<div class='line'>Beareth waste o’ wrecks and wind-blown waste.</div>
<div class='line in4'>The day doth hold o’ waste.</div>
<div class='line'>The smiles that die, that long to break,</div>
<div class='line'>The woes that burden them already broke,</div>
<div class='line in4'>’Tis waste, ah yea, ’tis waste.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>And yet, and yet, at some fair day,</div>
<div class='line'>E’en as the singing thou dost note</div>
<div class='line'>Doth bound from yonder hill’s side green</div>
<div class='line'>As echo, yea, the ghost o’ thy voice;</div>
<div class='line'>So shall all o’ this to sound aback</div>
<div class='line'>Unto the day.</div>
<div class='line'>Of waste, of waste, is heaven builded up.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>It is to the waste of earth that she speaks in
this message of love and sympathy:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, emptied heart! The weary o’ the path!</div>
<div class='line'>How would I to fill ye up o’ love!</div>
<div class='line'>I’d tear this lute, that it might whirr</div>
<div class='line'>A song that soothed thy lone, awearied path.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d steal the sun’s pale gold,</div>
<div class='line'>And e’en the silvered even’s ray,</div>
<div class='line'>To treasure them within this song</div>
<div class='line'>That it be rich for thee.</div>
<div class='line'>From out the wastes o’ earth I’d seek</div>
<div class='line'>And catch the woe-tears shed,</div>
<div class='line'>That I might drink them from the cup</div>
<div class='line'>And fill it up with loving.</div>
<div class='line'>From out the hearts afulled o’ love</div>
<div class='line'>Would I to steal the o’er-drip</div>
<div class='line'>And pack the emptied hearts of earth.</div>
<div class='line'>The bread o’ love would I to cast</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>Unto thy bywayed path, and pluck me</div>
<div class='line'>From the thornèd bush that traileth o’er</div>
<div class='line'>The stepping-place, the thorn, that brothers</div>
<div class='line'>O’ the flesh o’ me might step ’pon path acleared.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, I’d coax the songsters o’ the earth</div>
<div class='line'>To carol thee upon thy ways,</div>
<div class='line'>And fill ye up o’ love and love and love.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>And a message of cheer and encouragement
she gives to those who sorrow, in this:</p>
<p class='c010'>“The web o’ sorrow weaveth ’bout the days
o’ earth, and ’tis but Folly who plyeth o’ the
bobbin. I tell thee more, the bobbins stick and
threads o’ day-weave go awry. But list ye;
’tis he who windeth o’ his web ’pon smiles and
shuttleth ’twixt smiles and woe who weaveth
o’ a day afull and pleantious. And sorrow
then wilt rift and show a light athrough.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Smiles amid sorrows. He who windeth of
his web upon smiles not only rifts his own woes
but those of others, as she expresses it in this
verse:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The smile thou cast today that passed</div>
<div class='line'>Unheeded by the world; the handclasp</div>
<div class='line'>Of a friend, the touch of baby palms</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>Upon its mother’s breast—</div>
<div class='line'>Whither have they flown along the dreary way?</div>
<div class='line in4'>Mayhap thy smile</div>
<div class='line'>Hath fallen upon a daisy’s golden head,</div>
<div class='line'>To shine upon some weary traveler</div>
<div class='line'>Along the dusty road, and cause</div>
<div class='line'>A softening of the hard, hard way.</div>
<div class='line'>Perchance the handclasp strengthened wavering love</div>
<div class='line'>And lodged thee in thy friend’s regard.</div>
<div class='line'>And where the dimpled hands caress,</div>
<div class='line'>Will not a well of love spring forth?</div>
<div class='line'>Who knows, but who will tell</div>
<div class='line'>The hiding of these fleeting gifts!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>And she gives measure to the same thought
in this:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Waft ye through the world sunlight;</div>
<div class='line'>Throw ye to the sparrows grain</div>
<div class='line'>That runneth o’er the heaping measure.</div>
<div class='line'>Scatter flower petals, like the wings</div>
<div class='line'>Of fluttering butterflies, to streak</div>
<div class='line'>The dove-gray day with daisy gold,</div>
<div class='line'>And turn the silver mist to fleece of gold.</div>
<div class='line'>Hath the king a noble who is such</div>
<div class='line'>An wonder-worker? Or hath his jester</div>
<div class='line'>Such a pack of tricks as thine?</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>Both of these last have to do with the hands
and with the use of the hands in the expression
of love for others, but in the following poem
Patience pays a tender and yet somewhat mystical
tribute to the hands themselves, empty
hands filled with the gifts of Him, the power
to build and weave and soothe:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Hands. Hands. The hands o’ Earth;</div>
<div class='line'>Abusied at fashioning, Aye,</div>
<div class='line'>And put o’ this, aye, and that.</div>
<div class='line'>Hands. Hands upturned at empty.</div>
<div class='line'>Hands. Hands untooled, aye, but builders</div>
<div class='line'>O’ the soothe o’ Earth.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Hands. Hands aspread, aye, and sending forth</div>
<div class='line'>That which they do hold—the emptiness.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, at empty they be, afulled o’ the give o’ Him.</div>
<div class='line'>At put at up, aye, and down, ’tis at weave</div>
<div class='line'>O’ cloth o’ Him they be.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Hands. Hands afulled o’ work o’ Him;</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and ever at a spread o’ doing in His name.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and at put o’ weave</div>
<div class='line'>For naught but loving.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>There are no doubt such hands on earth,
many of them “ever at a spread of doing in
His name,” but not often have their work and
their mission been so beautifully and so fittingly
expressed as in this strange verse which,
to me at least, grows in wonder at every reading.
And this not so much because of the
quaintness of the words and the singularity
of the construction, as for the thought. This,
however, is characteristic of all of her work.
There is always more in it than appears upon
the surface. And yet when one analyzes it,
one finds that whatever may be the nature or
the subject of the composition, in nearly every
instance love is the inspiration.</p>
<p class='c007'>The love that she expresses is universal. It
goes out to nature in all its forms, animate and
inanimate, lovely and unlovely. It is manifested
in all her references to humanity, from
the infant to doddering age; and her compositions
are filled with appeals for the application
of love to the relations between man and
man. But it is when she sings of God that she
expresses love with the most tender and passionate
<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>fervency—His love for man, her love
for Him. “For He knoweth no beginning, no
ending to loving,” she says, “and loveth thee
and me and me and thee ever and afore ever.”
“Sighing but bringeth up heart’s weary; tears
but wash the days acleansed; hands abusied
for them not thine do work for Him; prayers
that fall ’pon but the air and naught, ye deem,
sing straight unto Him. Close, close doth He
to cradle His own to Him.” She gives poetic
expression to this divine love in the song which
follows:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Brother, weary o’ the plod,</div>
<div class='line'>Art sorried sore o’ waiting?</div>
<div class='line'>Brother, bowed aneath the pack o’ Earth,</div>
<div class='line'>Art seeking o’ the path</div>
<div class='line'>That leadest thee unto new fields</div>
<div class='line'>O’ green, and breeze-kissed airs?</div>
<div class='line'>Art bowed and bent o’ weight o’ sorry?</div>
<div class='line'>Art weary, weary, sore?</div>
<div class='line'>Then come and hark unto this song o’ Him.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Hast thou atrodden ’pon the Earth,</div>
<div class='line'>And worn the paths o’ folly</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>Till thou art foot-sore?</div>
<div class='line'>And hast the day grinned back to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>A folly-mask adown thy path</div>
<div class='line'>That layeth far behind thee?</div>
<div class='line'>Thy heart, my brother, hast thou then</div>
<div class='line'>Alost it ’pon the path?</div>
<div class='line'>And filled thee up o’ word and tung</div>
<div class='line'>O’ follysingers long the way?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in2'>Ah, weary me, ah, weary me!</div>
<div class='line'>Come thou unto this breast.</div>
<div class='line'>For though thou hast suffered o’ the Earth,</div>
<div class='line'>And though thy robe be stained</div>
<div class='line'>O’ travel o’er the stoney way,</div>
<div class='line'>And though thy lips deny thy heart,</div>
<div class='line'>Come thou unto this breast,</div>
<div class='line'>The breast o’ Him.</div>
<div class='line'>For He knoweth not the stain.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and the land o’ Him doth know</div>
<div class='line'>No stranger ’mid its hosts.</div>
<div class='line'>Ayea, and though thou comest mute,</div>
<div class='line'>This silence speaketh then to Him,</div>
<div class='line'>And He doth hold Him ope His arms.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>So come thou brother, weary one,</div>
<div class='line'>To Him, for ’tis but Earth and men</div>
<div class='line'>Who ask thee WHY.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>She pours out her love for God in many
verses of praise and prayer.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Bird skimming to the south,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Bear thou my song,</div>
<div class='line'>Sand slipping to the wave’s embrace,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Do thou but bear it too!</div>
<div class='line'>And, shifting tide, take thou</div>
<div class='line in2'>Unto thy varied paths</div>
<div class='line'>The voicing of my soul!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I’d build me such an endless</div>
<div class='line in2'>Chant to sing of Him</div>
<div class='line'>That days to follow days</div>
<div class='line in2'>Would be but builded chord</div>
<div class='line'>Of this my lay.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Still more ardently does she express her love
in these lines:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Spring, thou art but His smile</div>
<div class='line'>Of happiness in me, and sullen days</div>
<div class='line'>Of weariness shall fall when Spring is born</div>
<div class='line'>In winds of March and rains of April’s tears.</div>
<div class='line'>Methinks ’tis weariness of His that I,</div>
<div class='line'>His loved, should tarry o’er the task</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>And leave life’s golden sheaves unbound.</div>
<div class='line'>And, Night, thou too art mine, of Him.</div>
<div class='line'>Thy dim and veiled stars are but the eyes</div>
<div class='line'>Of Him that through the curtained mystery</div>
<div class='line'>Watch on and sever dark from me.</div>
<div class='line'>And, Love, thou too art His,</div>
<div class='line'>His words of wooing to my soul.</div>
<div class='line'>Should I, then, crush thee in embrace,</div>
<div class='line'>And bruise thee with my kiss,</div>
<div class='line'>And drink thy soul through mine?</div>
<div class='line'>What, then! ’Tis He, ’tis He, my love,</div>
<div class='line'>That gave me thee, and while my love is thine,</div>
<div class='line'>What wonder is it causeth here</div>
<div class='line'>This heart of mine to stifle so</div>
<div class='line'>And seek expression in a prayer of thanks?</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>With equal fervency of devotion and gratitude
she sings this tribute to the day:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, what a day He hath made, He hath made!</div>
<div class='line'>It flasheth abright and asweet, and asweet.</div>
<div class='line'>It showeth His love and His smile, yea, His smile.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The hills stand abrown, aye astand brown,</div>
<div class='line'>And peaked as a monk in his cowl, aye, his cowl!</div>
<div class='line'>The grass it hath seared, aye, hath seared</div>
<div class='line'>And scenteth asweet, yea, asweet.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>Ayonder a swallow doth whirl, aye, doth whirl,</div>
<div class='line'>And skim mid the grey o’ the blue,</div>
<div class='line in12'>Aye, the grey o’ the blue.</div>
<div class='line'>The young wave doth lap ’pon the sands,</div>
<div class='line in12'>Yea, lap soft and soft ’pon the sands.</div>
<div class='line'>The field’s maid doth seek, yea, doth seek,</div>
<div class='line'>And send out her song to the day,</div>
<div class='line in12'>Yea, send out her song to the day.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>My heart it is full, yea, ’tis full,</div>
<div class='line'>For the love of Him batheth the day,</div>
<div class='line in12'>Yea, the love of Him batheth the day.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, what a day He hath made,</div>
<div class='line in12'>Yea, He hath made it for me!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Her prayers are not appeals for aid; they
are not begging petitions. They are outpourings
of love and trust and gratitude.</p>
<p class='c007'>To an old couple, friends of Mr. and Mrs.
Curran, who passed a round-eyed evening with
Patience, she said:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Keep ye within thy heart a song</div>
<div class='line'>And murmur thou this prayer:</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“My God, am I then afraid</div>
<div class='line'>Of heights or depths?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>And doth this dark benumb my quaking limbs?</div>
<div class='line'>And do I stop my song in fear</div>
<div class='line'>Lest Thee do then forsake me?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, for I do love Thee so,</div>
<div class='line'>I fain would choose a song</div>
<div class='line'>Built from my chosen tung,</div>
<div class='line'>And though it be but chattering</div>
<div class='line'>Of a soul bereft of reasoning,</div>
<div class='line'>I know Thou would’st love it as Thine own,</div>
<div class='line'>For I do love Thee so!”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This was not given for another, but is her
own cry:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I beseech Thee, Lord, for naught!</div>
<div class='line'>But cry aloud unto the sunlight</div>
<div class='line'>Who bathes the earth in gold</div>
<div class='line'>And boldly breaketh into crannies</div>
<div class='line'>Yet unseen by man:</div>
<div class='line'>Flash thou in flaming sheen!</div>
<div class='line'>Mine own song of love doth falter</div>
<div class='line'>And my throat, it is afail!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And thou, the greening shrub along the way,</div>
<div class='line'>And earth at bud-season,</div>
<div class='line'>Do thou then spurt thy shoots</div>
<div class='line'>And pierce the air with loving!</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>And age-wabbled brother—</div>
<div class='line'>I do love thee for thy spending,</div>
<div class='line'>And I do gaze in loving at thy face,</div>
<div class='line'>Whereon I find His peace,</div>
<div class='line'>And trace the withered cheek</div>
<div class='line'>For record of His love.</div>
<div class='line'>Around thy lips doth hang</div>
<div class='line'>The child-smile of a trusting heart;</div>
<div class='line'>And world hath vanished</div>
<div class='line'>From thine eyes, bedimmed</div>
<div class='line'>To gard thee at awakening.</div>
<div class='line'>Thou, too, art of my song of love.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I beseech Thee, Lord, for naught.</div>
<div class='line'>These hands are Thine for loving,</div>
<div class='line'>And this heart, already Thine,</div>
<div class='line'>Why offer it?</div>
<div class='line'>I beseech Thee, Lord, for naught.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This one does ask for something, but only to
know Him:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God,</div>
<div class='line'>To say, “’Tis not enough.”</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, teach me, O Brother,</div>
<div class='line'>To sing, and though the weight</div>
<div class='line'>Be past this strength,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>Teach me, O God, to say,</div>
<div class='line'>“’Tis not enough—to pay!”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God, for I be weak.</div>
<div class='line'>Teach me to learn</div>
<div class='line'>Of strength from Thee.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God, to trust, and do.</div>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God, no word to pray.</div>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God, the heart Thou gavest me.</div>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God, to read thereon.</div>
<div class='line'>Teach me, O God, to waste not word.</div>
<div class='line'>Teach me that I be Ye!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>That last line presents the most impressive
principle of the religion she expresses, and
which, we might almost say, she embodies.
“Who are you?” she was once asked abruptly.</p>
<p class='c007'>“I be Him,” she replied; “alike to thee.
Ye be o’ Him.”</p>
<p class='c007'>At another time she said:</p>
<p class='c007'>“I be all that hath been, and all that is, all
that shalt be, for that be He.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Taken alone this would seem to be a declaration
that she herself was God, but when it is
<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>read in connection with the previous affirmation
it is readily understood.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Thou art of Him,” she said again, “aye,
and I be of Him, and ye be of Him, and He
be all and of all.”</p>
<p class='c007'>In this prayer, where she says “Teach me,
O God, no word to pray,” it is evident from
her other prayers that she uses the word pray
in the sense of “to beg.” Her prayers are
merely expressions of love and gratitude.</p>
<p class='c007'>She herself interprets the line, “Teach me,
O God, to waste not word,” in this verse:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Speak ye a true tongue,</div>
<div class='line'>Or waste ye with words the Soul’s song?</div>
<div class='line'>A damning evidence is with wasted words;</div>
<div class='line'>For need I prate to yonder star</div>
<div class='line'>When hunger fills the world wherein I dwell?</div>
<div class='line'>Cast I a glance so precious as His</div>
<div class='line'>Which wakes at every dawn?</div>
<div class='line'>Speak I a tongue one half so true</div>
<div class='line'>As sighing winds who sing amid</div>
<div class='line'>Aeolian harps strung with siren tress?</div>
<div class='line'>For lo, the sea murmureth a thousand tones,</div>
<div class='line'>Wrung from its world within,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>But telleth only of Him,</div>
<div class='line'>And so His silence keeps.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>In the order in which we have chosen to present
these poems, they are more and more
mystical as we go on. We trust, then, that the
reader meeting them for the first time will feel
no impertinence in increasing attempts at
elucidation from one who has read them often
and pondered them much.</p>
<p class='c007'>There is another and a very interesting
phase of these communications in the place
Christ holds in them. Patience’s attitude toward
the Savior is one of deep and loving
reverence.</p>
<p class='c007'>“Didst thou then,” she says, “with those
drops so worth, buy the throbbing at thy memory
set aflutter? And is this love of mine so
freely thine by that same purchase, or do I
love thee for thy love of me? And do I, then,
my father’s tilling for love of Him, like thee
to shed my blood and tears for reapers in an
age to come, because He wills it so? God
grant ’tis so!”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>Nor does she hesitate to assert His divinity
with definiteness. “Think ye,” she cries,
“that He who doth send the earth aspin
athrough the blue depth o’ Heaven, be not a
wonder-god who springeth up where’er He
doth set a wish! Yea, then doth He to spring
from out the dust a lily; so also doth He to
breathe athin (within) the flesh, and come unto
the earth, born from out flesh athout the touch
o’ man. ’Tis so, and from off the lute o’ me
hath song aflowed that be asweeted o’ the
blood o’ Him that shed for thee and me.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And she puts the same assertion of His
divine birth into this tribute to the Virgin:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Mary, mother, thou art the Spring</div>
<div class='line'>That flowereth, though nay man aplanteth thee.</div>
<div class='line'>Mary, mother, the song of thee</div>
<div class='line'>That lulled His dreams to come,</div>
<div class='line'>Sing them athrough the earth and bring</div>
<div class='line'>The hope of rest unto the day.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Mary, mother, from out the side of Him</div>
<div class='line'>That thou didst bear, aflowed the crimson tide</div>
<div class='line'>That doth to stain e’en unto this day—</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>The tide of blood that ebbed the man</div>
<div class='line'>From out the flesh and left the God to be.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Mary, mother, wilt thou then leave me catch</div>
<div class='line'>These drops, that I do offer them as drink</div>
<div class='line'>Unto the brothers of the flesh of me of earth?</div>
<div class='line'>Mary, mother of the earth’s loved!</div>
<div class='line'>Mary, bearer of the God!</div>
<div class='line'>Mary, that I might call thee of a name befitting thee,</div>
<div class='line'>I seek, I seek, I seek, and none</div>
<div class='line'>Doth offer it to me save this:</div>
<div class='line'>Mother! Mother! Mother of the Him;</div>
<div class='line'>The flesh that died for me.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>
<h2 class='c003'>THE IDEAS ON IMMORTALITY</h2></div>
<p class='c026'>“Earth! Earth, the mother of us all! Aye, the
mother of us all! How loth, how loth, like to a child
we be, to leave and seek ’mid dark!”—<span class='sc'>Patience
Worth.</span></p>
<p class='c004'>If the personality of Patience Worth and
the nature and quality of her literary productions
are worthy of consideration as evidences
of the truth of her claim to a spiritual existence,
then in the sufficiency of the proof may
be found an answer to the world-old question:
Is there a life after death? To what extent the
facts that have been presented in this narrative
may be accepted as proof, is for the reader to
determine. But Patience has not been content
to reveal a strange personality and a unique
literature; she has had much to say upon this
question of immortality. There is more or less
spiritual significance in nearly all of her poetry
<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>and in some of her prose, and while her references
to the after life are usually veiled under
figures of speech, they nevertheless give assurances
of its existence. She makes it clear, however,
that she is not permitted to reveal the
nature of that life beyond the veil, but she goes
as far apparently as she dares, in the repeated
assertion, through metaphor and illustration,
of its reality.</p>
<p class='c010'>“My days,” she cries, “I have scattered like
autumn leaves, whirled by raging winds, and
they have fallen in various crannies ’long the
way. Blown to rest are the sunny spring-kissed
mornings of my youth, and with many
a sigh did I blow the sobbing eves that
melted into tear-washed night. Blow on, thou
zephyr of this life, and let me throw the value
of each day to thee. Blow, and spend thyself,
till, tired, thou wilt croon thyself to sleep.
Perchance this casting of my day may cease,
and thou wilt turn anew unto thy blowing and
reap the casting of the world.</p>
<p class='c010'>“What then is a sigh? Ah, man may
breathe a sorrow. Doth then the dumbness of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>his brother bar his sighing? Nay—and hark!
The sea doth sigh, and yonder starry jasmine
stirreth with a tremorous sigh; and morning’s
birth is greeted with the sighing of the world.
For what? Ah, for that coming that shall fulfill
the promise, and change the sighing to a
singing, and loose the tongue of him whom
God doth know and, fearful lest he tell His
hidden mysteries, hath locked his lips.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And again she asks: “Needest thou see what
God himself sealeth thine eyes to make thee
know?” Meaning, undoubtedly, that only
through the process of death can the soul be
brought to an understanding of that other life;
and she declares that even if we were shown,
we could not comprehend. “If thou should’st
see His face on morrow’s break,” she says,
“’twould but start a wagging,” a discussion.
And she continues: “Ah, ope the tabernacle,
but look thou not on high, for when the filmy
veil shall fade away—ah, could’st thou but
know that He who waits hath looked, aye
looked, on thee, and thou hast looked on Him
since time began!” This enigmatical utterance
<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>is in itself sufficient to start a “wagging,”
but Patience evidently feels that the solution
is beyond our powers: for she repeatedly asserts
that the key to the mystery is within our
reach if we could but grasp it. “Fleet as down
blown from its moorings, seeking the linnet
who dropped her seed, so drift ye,” she says,
“ever seeking, when at the root still rests the
seed pod.” And again: “Knowest thou that
fair land to which the traveler is loath to go,
but loath, so loath, to leave? Ah, the mystery
of the snail’s shell is far deeper than this.”</p>
<p class='c007'>Yet she tells us again and again that Nature
itself is the proof of another life. “Why live,”
she asks, “the paltry span of years allotted
thee, in desolation, while all about thee are His
promises? Thou art, indeed, like a withered
hand that holds a new-blown rose.” The truth,
she says, is not to be found in “books of wordy
filling,” but in the infant’s smile and in the
myriad creations and resurrections that are
ever within our cognizance. “I pipe of learning,”
she cries, “and fall silent before the fool
who singeth his folly lay.”</p>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>The natural evidences she points out are
visible to all and within the comprehension of
the feeblest intelligence, but he whose vision is
obscured by book knowledge “is like unto the
monk who prays within his cell, unheedful of
the timid sunbeam who would light the page
his wisdom so befogs.” “Ah!” she exclaims,
“the labor set thee to unlearn thine inborn
fancies!” meaning, apparently, the suppression
of the intuitions of immortality; and in the
same line of thought she cries: “Am I then
drunkened on the chaff of knowledge supped
by mine elderborn? Nay, my forefolk drank
not truth, but sent through my veins acoursing,
chaff, chaff, naught by chaff.” Plainly, then,
Patience has no great respect for learning, and
it is the book of Nature rather than the book
of words that she would have us read.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I made a song from the dead notes of His birds,</div>
<div class='line'>And wove a wreath of withered lily buds,</div>
<div class='line'>And gathered daisies that the sun had scorched,</div>
<div class='line'>And plucked a rose the riotous wind had torn,</div>
<div class='line'>And stolen clover flowers, down-trodden by the kine,</div>
<div class='line'>And fashioned into ropes and tied with yellow reed,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>An offering unto Him: and lo, the dust</div>
<div class='line'>Of crumbling blossoms fell to bloom again,</div>
<div class='line'>And smiled like sickened children,</div>
<div class='line'>Wistfully, but strong of faith that mother-stalk</div>
<div class='line'>Would send fresh blossoms in the spring.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>So it is she sings, presenting the symbolisms
of nature to illustrate the renewal or the continuance
of life; or again, she likens life to the
seasons (as did Shakespeare and Keats, and
many another poet) in this manner:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>My youth is promising as spring,</div>
<div class='line'>And verdant as young weeds,</div>
<div class='line'>Whose very impudence taketh them</div>
<div class='line'>Where bloom the garden’s treasures.</div>
<div class='line'>My midlife, like the summer, who blazeth</div>
<div class='line'>As a fire of blasting heat, fed by withered</div>
<div class='line'>Crumbling weeds of my spring.</div>
<div class='line'>My sunset, like the fall who ripeneth</div>
<div class='line'>The season’s offerings. And hoar frost</div>
<div class='line'>Is my winter night, fraught with borrowed warmth,</div>
<div class='line'>And flowers, and filled with weeds,</div>
<div class='line'>Which spring e’en ’neath the frozen waste?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, is the winter then my season’s close?</div>
<div class='line'>Or will I pin a faith to hope and look</div>
<div class='line'>Again for spring, who lives eternal in my soul?</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>Faith is the keynote of many of her songs,
the faith that grows out of that profound love
which is the essential principle of the religion
she presents. The triumph of faith she expresses
in the poem which follows:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>O sea! The panting bosom of the Earth;</div>
<div class='line'>The sighing, singing carol of her heart!</div>
<div class='line'>I watch thee and I dream a dream</div>
<div class='line'>Whose fruit doth sicken me.</div>
<div class='line'>White sails do fleck thy sheen, and yonder moon</div>
<div class='line'>Doth seem to dip thy depths</div>
<div class='line'>And sail the silver mirror, high above.</div>
<div class='line'>Unharbored do I rove. Along the shore behind,</div>
<div class='line'>The shadow of Tomorrow creepeth on.</div>
<div class='line'>A seething silvered path doth stretch thy length,</div>
<div class='line'>To meet the curving cheek of Lady Moon.</div>
<div class='line'>I dream the flutt’ring waves to fanning wings</div>
<div class='line'>And fain would follow in their course. But stay!</div>
<div class='line'>My barque doth plow anew, and set the wings to flight;</div>
<div class='line'>For though I watch their tremorous mass, my craft</div>
<div class='line'>But saileth harbor-loosed, and ever stretcheth far</div>
<div class='line'>Beyond the moon’s own phantom path—</div>
<div class='line'>And I but dream a dream whose fruit doth sicken me.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, Sea! who planted thee, and cast</div>
<div class='line'>A silver purse, unloosed, upon thy breast?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>My barque, who then did harbor it,</div>
<div class='line'>And who unfurled its sail?</div>
<div class='line'>And yonder moon, from whence her silver coaxed?</div>
<div class='line'>Methinks my dream doth wax her wroth,</div>
<div class='line'>Else why the pallor o’er her cast?</div>
<div class='line'>Dare I to sail, to steer me at the wheel?</div>
<div class='line'>Shall I then hide my face and cease my murmuring,</div>
<div class='line'>O’erfearful lest I find the port?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, I do know thee, Lord, and fearless sail me on,</div>
<div class='line'>To harbor then at dawning of new day.</div>
<div class='line'>I stand unfearful at the prow.</div>
<div class='line'>At anchor rests my barque. Away, thou phantom Moon,</div>
<div class='line'>And restless, seething path!</div>
<div class='line'>My chart I cast unto the sea,</div>
<div class='line'>For I do know Thee, Lord!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This triumph of faith is also the theme of the
weird allegory which follows. It is, perhaps,
the most mystical of Patience’s productions.</p>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>
<h3 class='c021'>THE PHANTOM AND THE DREAMER</h3></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Thick stands the hill in garb of fir,</div>
<div class='line'>And winter-stripped the branching shrub.</div>
<div class='line'>Cold gray the sky, and glistered o’er</div>
<div class='line'>With star-dust pulsing tremorously.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Snow, the lady of the Winter Knight,</div>
<div class='line'>Hath danced her weary and fallen to her rest.</div>
<div class='line'>She lieth stretched in purity</div>
<div class='line'>And dimpled ’neath the trees.</div>
<div class='line'>A trackless waste doth lie from hill</div>
<div class='line'>To valley ’neath, and Winter’s Knight</div>
<div class='line'>Doth sing a wooing lay unto his love.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Cot on cot doth stand deserted,</div>
<div class='line'>And thro’ the purpled dark they show</div>
<div class='line'>Like phantoms of a life long passed</div>
<div class='line'>To nothingness. Hear thou the hollowness</div>
<div class='line'>Of the sea’s coughing beat against</div>
<div class='line'>The cliff beneath, and harken ye</div>
<div class='line'>To the silence of the valley there.</div>
<div class='line'>Doth chafe ye of thy loneliness?</div>
<div class='line'>Then sleep and let me put a dream to thee.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in28'><span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>See ye the cot—</div>
<div class='line'>A speck o’ dark adown the hillside,</div>
<div class='line'>And sheltered o’er with fir-bows,</div>
<div class='line'>Heavy-laden with the kiss of Lady Snow?</div>
<div class='line'>Come hither then. Let’s bruise this snowy breast,</div>
<div class='line'>And fetch us there unto its door.</div>
<div class='line in28'>See! Here a twig</div>
<div class='line'>Hath battled with the wind, and lost.</div>
<div class='line'>We then may cast it ’mid its brothers</div>
<div class='line'>Of the bush and plow us on.</div>
<div class='line'>Look ye to the thick thatch</div>
<div class='line'>O’er the gable of the roof,</div>
<div class='line'>Piled higher with a blanketing of snow;</div>
<div class='line'>And shutters hang agape, to rattle</div>
<div class='line'>Like the cackle of a crone.</div>
<div class='line'>The blackness of a pit within,</div>
<div class='line'>And filled with sounds that tho’ they be</div>
<div class='line'>But seasoning of the log, doth freeze</div>
<div class='line'>Thy marrowmeat. I feel the quake</div>
<div class='line'>And shake thee for thy fear.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Stride thou within and set a flint to brush</div>
<div class='line'>Within the chimney-place. We then shall rouse</div>
<div class='line'>The memory of the tenant here—</div>
<div class='line'>A night, my friend, thee’lt often call to mind.</div>
<div class='line'>The flame hath sprung and lappeth at the twigs.</div>
<div class='line'>Thee’lt watch the burning of thy hastiness,</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>And wait thee long</div>
<div class='line'>Until the embers slip away to smoke.</div>
<div class='line'>Then strain ye to its weaving</div>
<div class='line'>And spell to me the reading of its folds.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>I see thin, threading lines that writhe them</div>
<div class='line'>To a shape—a visage ever changeful,</div>
<div class='line'>Or mine eyes do play me false,</div>
<div class='line'>For it doth smile to twist it to a leer,</div>
<div class='line'>And sadden but to laugh in mockery.</div>
<div class='line'>I see a lad whose face</div>
<div class='line'>Doth shine illumed, and he doth bear</div>
<div class='line'>The kiss of wisdom on his brow.</div>
<div class='line'>I see him travail ’neath a weary load,</div>
<div class='line'>And close beside him Wisdom follows on.</div>
<div class='line'>Burdened not is he. Do I see aright?</div>
<div class='line'>For still the light of wisdom shineth o’er.</div>
<div class='line'>But stay! What! Do mine eyes then cheat?</div>
<div class='line'>This twisting smoke-wreath</div>
<div class='line'>Filleth all too much my sight!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Nay, friend, strain thee now anew.</div>
<div class='line'>The lad! Now canst thou see?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, for like to him</div>
<div class='line'>Thou hast looked thee at the face of Doubt.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Who art thou, shape or phantom, then,</div>
<div class='line'>That thou canst set my dream to flight?</div>
<div class='line'>I doubt me that the lad could stand</div>
<div class='line'>Beneath the load!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Nay, thee canst ravel well, my friend.</div>
<div class='line'>The lad was thee, and Doubt</div>
<div class='line'>O’ertook with Wisdom on thy way.</div>
<div class='line'>Come, bury Doubt aneath the ash.</div>
<div class='line'>We travel us anew.</div>
<div class='line'>Seest thou, a rimming moon doth show</div>
<div class='line'>From ’neath the world’s beshadowed side.</div>
<div class='line'>A night bird chatteth to its mate,</div>
<div class='line'>And lazily the fir-boughs wave.</div>
<div class='line'>We track us to the cot whose roof</div>
<div class='line'>Doth sag—and why thy shambling tread?</div>
<div class='line'>I bid ye on!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Who art thou—again I that demand—</div>
<div class='line'>That I shall follow at thy bidding?</div>
<div class='line'>Who set me then this task?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Step thou within!</div>
<div class='line'>Stand thee on the thresh of this roofless void!</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>Look thou! Dost see the maid</div>
<div class='line'>Who coyly stretcheth forth her hand</div>
<div class='line'>To welcome thee? She biddeth thee</div>
<div class='line'>To sit and sup. I bid thee speak.</div>
<div class='line'>Awaken thee unto her welcoming.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Enough! This fancy-breeding sickeneth</div>
<div class='line'>My very soul! A skeleton of murdered trees,</div>
<div class='line'>Ribbed with pine and shanked of birch!</div>
<div class='line'>And thee wouldst bid me then</div>
<div class='line'>Embrace the emptiness.</div>
<div class='line'>I see naught, and believe but what I see.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Look thou again, and strain.</div>
<div class='line'>What seest thou?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>I see a newly kindled fire,</div>
<div class='line'>And watch its burning glow until</div>
<div class='line'>The embers die and send their ghosts aloft.</div>
<div class='line'>But ash remaineth—and I chill!</div>
<div class='line'>For rising there, a shape</div>
<div class='line'>Whose visage twisteth drunkenly,</div>
<div class='line'>And from her garments falls a dust of ash.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Doubt! Unburied, friende! We journey on,</div>
<div class='line'>And mark ye well each plodding footfall</div>
<div class='line'>Singing like to golden metal with the frost.</div>
<div class='line'>The night a scroll of white, and lined</div>
<div class='line'>With blackish script—</div>
<div class='line'>The lines of His own putting!</div>
<div class='line'>Read thee there! Thou seest naught,</div>
<div class='line'>And believe but what ye see!</div>
<div class='line'>Stark nakedness and waste—but hearken ye!</div>
<div class='line'>The frost skirt traileth o’er the crusted snow</div>
<div class='line'>And singeth young leaves’ songs of Spring.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Still art thou blind!</div>
<div class='line'>But at His touching shall the darkness bud</div>
<div class='line'>And bloom to rosy morn. And even now,</div>
<div class='line'>Were I to snap a twig ’twould bleed and die.</div>
<div class='line'>See ye; ’tis done! Look ye!</div>
<div class='line'>Ye believe but what ye see:</div>
<div class='line'>Here within thy very hand</div>
<div class='line'>Thou holdest Doubt’s undoing.</div>
<div class='line'>I bid ye look upon the bud</div>
<div class='line'>Already gathered ’neath the tender bark.</div>
<div class='line'>The sun’s set and rise hath coaxed it forth.</div>
<div class='line'>Thee canst see the rogue hath stolen red</div>
<div class='line'>And put it to its heart. And here</div>
<div class='line'>Aneath the snow the grass doth love the earth</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>And nestles to her breast.</div>
<div class='line'>I stand me here, and lo, the Spring hath broke!</div>
<div class='line'>The dark doth slip away to hide,</div>
<div class='line'>And flowering, singing, sighing, loving Spring</div>
<div class='line'>Is here!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Aye, thou art indeed</div>
<div class='line'>A wonder-worker in the night!</div>
<div class='line'>A black pall, a freezing blast,</div>
<div class='line'>An unbroken path—and thou</div>
<div class='line'>Wouldst have me then to prate o’ Spring,</div>
<div class='line'>And pluck a bud where dark doth hide the bush!</div>
<div class='line'>Who cometh from the thicket higher there?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>’Tis Doubt to meet thee, friend!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Who art thou? I fain would flee,</div>
<div class='line'>And yet I fear to leave lest I be lost.</div>
<div class='line'>I hate thee and thy weary task!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Nay, brother, thy lips do spell,</div>
<div class='line'>But couldst thee read their words aright</div>
<div class='line'>Thee wouldst meet again with Doubt.</div>
<div class='line'>Come! We journey on unto the cot</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>Beloved the most by me. I bid thee</div>
<div class='line'>Let thy heart to warm within thy breast.</div>
<div class='line'>A thawing melteth frozen Hope.</div>
<div class='line'>See how, below, the sea hath veiled</div>
<div class='line'>Her secret held so close,</div>
<div class='line'>And murmured only to the winds</div>
<div class='line'>Who woo her ever and anon.</div>
<div class='line'>The waves do lap them, hungry for the sands.</div>
<div class='line'>Careful! Lest the sun’s pale rise</div>
<div class='line'>Should blind thee with its light.</div>
<div class='line'>A shaft to put it through</div>
<div class='line'>The darkness of thy soul must needs</div>
<div class='line'>But be a glimmering to blind.</div>
<div class='line'>Step ye to the hearthstone then,</div>
<div class='line'>And set thee there a flame anew.</div>
<div class='line'>I bid ye read again</div>
<div class='line'>The folding of the smoke.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>’Tis done, thou fiend!</div>
<div class='line'>A pretty play for fools, indeed.</div>
<div class='line'>I swear me that ’tis not</div>
<div class='line'>For loving of the task I builded it,</div>
<div class='line'>But for the warming of its glow.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>In truth ye speak. But read!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>I see a hag whose brow</div>
<div class='line'>Doth wrinkle like a summer sea.</div>
<div class='line'>For do I look unto the sea</div>
<div class='line'>At Beauty’s own fair form,</div>
<div class='line'>It writheth to a twisted shape,</div>
<div class='line'>And I do doubt me of her loveliness.</div>
<div class='line'>The haggard visage of the crone</div>
<div class='line'>I now behold, doth set me doubting</div>
<div class='line'>Of mine eye, for dimples seem</div>
<div class='line'>To flutter ’neath the wrinkled cheek.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Phantom:</i></div>
<div class='line'>So, then, thee believest</div>
<div class='line'>But what thine eyes behold!</div>
<div class='line'>Thee findest then</div>
<div class='line'>Thy seeing in a sorry plight.</div>
<div class='line'>I marvel at thy wisdom, lad.</div>
<div class='line'>Look ye anew. Mayhap thee then</div>
<div class='line'>Canst coax the crone away.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Dreamer:</i></div>
<div class='line'>Enough! The morn hath kissed the night adieu,</div>
<div class='line'>And even while I prate</div>
<div class='line'>A redwing crimsoneth the snow in flight.</div>
<div class='line'>Kindled tinder smoldereth away,</div>
<div class='line'>And I do strain me to its fold.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>I glut me of the loveliness I there behold,</div>
<div class='line'>For from the writhing stream a sprite is born</div>
<div class='line'>Whose beauteous form bedazzles me,</div>
<div class='line'>And she doth point me</div>
<div class='line'>To the golding gray of morn. The sea</div>
<div class='line'>Is singing, singing her unto my soul.</div>
<div class='line'>I dreamed she sighed, but waked to hear her sing.</div>
<div class='line'>I hear thee, Phantom, bidding me on, on!</div>
<div class='line'>But morn hath stolen dreams away.</div>
<div class='line'>I strain me to the hills to trace our path,</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, unbroken is the snow,</div>
<div class='line'>And cots have melted with the light,</div>
<div class='line'>And yet, methinks a murmuring doth come</div>
<div class='line'>From out the echoes of the night,</div>
<div class='line'>That hid them ’neath the crannies of the hills.</div>
<div class='line'>Life! Life! I lead thee on!</div>
<div class='line'>And faith doth spring from seedlings of thy doubt!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='c030'><span class='sc'>Epilogue.</span></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Thick stands the hill in garb of fir and snow.</div>
<div class='line'>The Lady of the Winter’s Knight hath danced</div>
<div class='line'>Her weary, and stretched her in her purity,</div>
<div class='line'>To cover aching wounds of Winter’s overloving woo.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c008' />
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>“And faith doth spring from seedlings of
thy doubt!” plainly meaning an active doubt
that searches for the truth and finds it. But
she personifies Doubt in another and more forbidding
form in this:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Like to a thief who wrappeth him</div>
<div class='line'>Within the night-tide’s robe,</div>
<div class='line'>So standeth the specter o’ the Earth;</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, he doth robe him o’ the Earth’s fair store.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, he decketh in the star-hung purple o’ the eve,</div>
<div class='line'>And reacheth from out the night unto the morn,</div>
<div class='line'>And wringeth from her waking all her gold,</div>
<div class='line'>And at his touching, lo, the stars are dust,</div>
<div class='line'>And morn’s gold but heat’s glow, and ne’er</div>
<div class='line'>The golden blush of His own metal store.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in6'>Yea, he strideth then</div>
<div class='line'>Upon the flower-hung couches of the field,</div>
<div class='line'>And traileth him thereon his robe,</div>
<div class='line'>And lo, the flowers do die of thirst</div>
<div class='line'>And parch of scoarching of his breath.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>Yea, and ’mid the musics of the earth he strideth him,</div>
<div class='line'>And full-songed throats are mute.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, music dieth of his luring glance.</div>
<div class='line'>And e’en the love of earth he seeketh out</div>
<div class='line'>And turneth it unto a folly-play.</div>
<div class='line'>Yea, beneath his glance, the fairy frost</div>
<div class='line'>Upon the love sprite’s wing</div>
<div class='line'>Doth flutter, as a dust, and drop, and leave</div>
<div class='line'>But bruised and broken bearers for His store.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in6'>Yea, and ’mid man’s day he ever strideth him</div>
<div class='line'>And layeth low man’s reasoning. His robes</div>
<div class='line'>Are hung of all the earth’s most loved.</div>
<div class='line'>From off the flowers their fresh; from off the day</div>
<div class='line'>The fairness of her hours. For dark, and hid</div>
<div class='line'>Beneath his cloak, he steppeth ever,</div>
<div class='line'>And doth hiss his name to thee—</div>
<div class='line'>Doubt.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>I have said that the message of Patience
Worth contained a revelation, a religion and a
promise. The revelation is too obvious to need
a pointer. In the preceding chapter were presented
the elements of the religion that she reveals,
with which should be included the unfaltering
faith expressed in these poems. Love
and Faith—these are the two Graces upon
<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>whom, to personify them, all her work is rested,
and from them spring the promise she conveys.
That promise has to do with the hereafter, and
Patience knows the human attitude in relation
to that universal problem, and she gives courage
to the shrinking heart in this poem on the
fear of death:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I stride abroad before my brothers like a roaring lion,</div>
<div class='line'>Yet at even’s close from whence cometh the icy hand</div>
<div class='line'>That clutcheth at my heart and maketh me afraid—</div>
<div class='line'>The slipping of myself away, I know not whither?</div>
<div class='line in4'>And lo, I fall atremble.</div>
<div class='line'>When I would grasp a straw, ’tis then I find it not.</div>
<div class='line'>Can I then trust me on this journey lone</div>
<div class='line'>To country I deem peopled, but know not?</div>
<div class='line'>My very heart declareth faith, yet hath not thine</div>
<div class='line'>Been touched and chilled by this same phantom?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, through the granite sips the lichen—</div>
<div class='line'>And hast thou not a long dark journey made?</div>
<div class='line'>Why fear? As cloud wreaths fade</div>
<div class='line'>From spring’s warm smile, so shall fear</div>
<div class='line'>Be put to flight by faith.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I pluck me buds of varied hue and choose the violet</div>
<div class='line'>To weave a garland for my loved and best.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>I search for bloom among the rocks</div>
<div class='line in4'>And find but feathery plume.</div>
<div class='line'>I weave, and lo, the blossoms fade</div>
<div class='line in4'>Before I reach the end,</div>
<div class='line'>And faded lie amid my tears—</div>
<div class='line in4'>And yet I weave and weave.</div>
<div class='line'>I search for jewels ’neath the earth,</div>
<div class='line in4'>And find them at the dawn,</div>
<div class='line'>Besprinkled o’er the rose and leaf,</div>
<div class='line'>And showered by the sparrow’s wing,</div>
<div class='line'>Who seeketh ’mid the dew-wet vine</div>
<div class='line in4'>A harbor for her home.</div>
<div class='line'>I search for truth along the way</div>
<div class='line in4'>And find but dust and web,</div>
<div class='line'>And in the smile of infant lips</div>
<div class='line in4'>I know myself betrayed.</div>
<div class='line'>I watch the swallow skim across the blue</div>
<div class='line in4'>To homelands of the South,</div>
<div class='line'>And ah, the gnawing at my heart doth cease;</div>
<div class='line in4'>For how he wings and wings</div>
<div class='line'>To lands he deemeth peopled by his brothers,</div>
<div class='line'>Whose song he hears in flight!</div>
<div class='line'>Not skimming on the lake’s fair breast is he,</div>
<div class='line'>But winging on and on,</div>
<div class='line'>And dim against the feathery cloud</div>
<div class='line in4'>He fades into the blue.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>I stand with withered blossoms crushed,</div>
<div class='line in4'>And weave and weave and weave.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This is Patience’s answer to the eternal
question:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Can I then trust me on this journey lone</div>
<div class='line'>To country I deem peopled, but know not?</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>It is the cry of him who believes and yet
doubts, and Patience points to the swallow
winging across the blue “to lands he deemeth
peopled with his brothers” who have gone on
before. In imagination he can hear their song
in the home lands of the South, and though he
cannot see them, and cannot have had word
from them, he knows they are there, and he
does not skim uncertainly about the lake, but
with unfaltering faith “wings him on and on”
until—</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Dim against the feathery cloud</div>
<div class='line'>He fades into the blue.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>But Patience does not content herself with
appeals to faith, eloquent as they may be.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>While her communications are always clothed
in figures of speech, they are sometimes more
definite in statement than in the lines which
have been thus far presented. In the prose
poem which follows, she asks and answers the
question in a way that can leave no doubt of
her meaning:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Shall I arise and know thee, brother, when
like a bubble I am blown into Eternity from
this pipe of clay? Or shall I burst and float
my atoms in a joyous spray at the first beholding
of this home prepared for thee and me,
and shall we together mingle our joys in one
supreme joy in Him? It matters not, beloved,
so comfort thee. For should the blowing be
the end, what then? Hath not thy pack been
full, and mine? We are o’erweary with the
work of living, and sinking to oblivion would
be rest. Yet sure as sun shall rise, my dust
shall be unloosed, and blow into new fields of
new days. I see full fields yet to be harvested,
and I am weary. I see fresh business of living,
work yet to be done, and I am weary. Oh, let
<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>me fold these tired hands and sleep. Beloved,
I trust, and expect my trust, for ne’er yet did
He fail.”</p>
<p class='c007'>She puts this into the mouth of one who
lives, but it is not merely an expression of
faith; it is a positive assertion. “Yet sure as
sun shall rise, my dust shall be unloosed, and
blow into new fields of new days.”</p>
<hr class='c029' />
<p class='c007'>And again she sings:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>What carest, dear, should sorrow trace</div>
<div class='line'>Where dimples sat, and should</div>
<div class='line'>Her dove-gray cloud to settle ’neath thine eye?</div>
<div class='line'>The withering of thy curving cheek</div>
<div class='line'>Bespeaks the spending of thy heart.</div>
<div class='line'>Lips once full are bruised</div>
<div class='line'>By biting of restraint. Wax wiser, dear.</div>
<div class='line'>To wane is but to rest and rise once more.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>Or she puts the thought in another form in
this assurance:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Weary not, O brother!</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis apaled, the sun’s gold sink.</div>
<div class='line'>Then weary not, but set thy path to end,</div>
<div class='line'>E’en as the light doth fade and leave</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>Nay trace to mar the night’s dark tide.</div>
<div class='line'>Sink thou, then, as doth the sun,</div>
<div class='line'>Assured that thou shalt rise!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c029' />
<p class='c007'>All these, however, are but preparatory to
the communication in which she asserts not
only the actuality of the future life but something
of the nature of it. One might say that
the preceding poems and prose-poems, taken
alone and without regard to the mystery of
their source, were merely expressions of belief,
but in this communication she seems to speak
with knowledge, seems even to have overstepped
the bounds within which, she has often
asserted, she is held. “My lips be astopped,”
she has said in answer to a request for information
of this forbidden character, but here she
appears to have been permitted to give a
glimpse of the unknown, and to present a
promise of universal application. This poem,
from the spiritual standpoint, is the most remarkable
of all her productions.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How have I caught at fleeting joys</div>
<div class='line'>And swifter fleeting sorrows!</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>And days and nights, and morns and eves,</div>
<div class='line'>And seasons, too, aslipping thro’ the years, afleet.</div>
<div class='line'>And whither hath their trend then led?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, whither!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>How do I to stop amid the very pulse o’ life.</div>
<div class='line'>Afeared! Yea, fear clutcheth at my very heart!</div>
<div class='line'>For what? The night? Nay, night doth shimmer</div>
<div class='line'>And flash the jewels I did count</div>
<div class='line'>E’er fear had stricken me.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The morn? Nay, I waked with morn atremor,</div>
<div class='line'>And know the day-tide’s every hour.</div>
<div class='line'>How do I then to clutch me</div>
<div class='line'>At my heart, afeared?</div>
<div class='line'>The morrow? Nay,</div>
<div class='line'>The morrow but bringeth old loves</div>
<div class='line'>And hopes anew.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, woe is me, ’tis emptiness, aye, naught—</div>
<div class='line'>The bottomlessness o’ the pit that doth afright!</div>
<div class='line'>Afeared? Aye, but driven fearless on!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>What! Promise ye ’tis to mart I plod?</div>
<div class='line'>What! Promise ye new joys?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, but should I sleep, to waken me</div>
<div class='line'>To joys I ne’er had supped!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>I see me stand abashed and timid,</div>
<div class='line'>As a child who cast a toy beloved,</div>
<div class='line'>For bauble that but caught the eye</div>
<div class='line'>And left the heart ahungered.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>What! Should I search in vain</div>
<div class='line'>To find a sorrow that had fleeted hence</div>
<div class='line'>Afore my coming and found it not?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, me, the emptiness!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And what! should joys that but a prick</div>
<div class='line'>Of gladness dealt, and teased my hours</div>
<div class='line'>To happiness, be lost amid this promised bliss?</div>
<div class='line'>Nay, I clutch me to my heart</div>
<div class='line'>In fear, in truth!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Do harken Ye! And cast afearing</div>
<div class='line'>To the wiles of beating gales and wooing breeze.</div>
<div class='line'>I find me throat aswell and voice attuned.</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, let me then to sing, for joy consumeth me!</div>
<div class='line'>I’ve builded me a land, my mart,</div>
<div class='line'>And fear hath slipped away to leave me sing.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I sleep, and feel afloating.</div>
<div class='line'>Whither! Whither! To wake,—</div>
<div class='line'>And wonder warmeth at my heart,</div>
<div class='line'>I’ve waked in yester-year!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>What! Ye? And what! I’st thou?</div>
<div class='line'>Ah, have I then slept, to dream? Come,</div>
<div class='line'>Ne’er a dream-wraith looked me such a welcoming!</div>
<div class='line'>’Twas yesterday this hand wert then afold,</div>
<div class='line'>And now,—ah, do I dream?</div>
<div class='line'>’Tis warm-pressed within mine own!</div>
<div class='line'>Dreams! Dreams! And yet, we’ve met afore!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I see me flitting thro’ this vale,</div>
<div class='line'>And tho’ I strive to spell</div>
<div class='line'>The mountain’s height and valley’s depth,</div>
<div class='line'>I do but fall afail.</div>
<div class='line'>Wouldst thou then drink a potion</div>
<div class='line'>Were I to offer thee an empty cup?</div>
<div class='line'>Couldst thou to pluck the rainbow from the sky?</div>
<div class='line'>As well, then, might I spell to thee.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>But I do promise at the waking,</div>
<div class='line'>Old joys, and sorrows ripened to a mellow heart.</div>
<div class='line'>And e’en the crime-stained wretch, abasked in light,</div>
<div class='line'>Shall cast his seed and spring afruit!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Then do I cease to clutch the emptiness</div>
<div class='line'>And sleep, and sleep me unafeared!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>What is it that affrights, she asks, when we
think of death? It is the emptiness, she answers,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>the utter lack of knowledge of what
lies beyond. And if we waken to “joys we
ne’er have supped”—using the word sup in
the sense of to taste or to know—what is there
to attract us in the prospect? It is an illustration
she presents of our attitude toward promises
of joys with which we are unfamiliar; and
which therefore do not greatly interest us—the
child who casts aside a well beloved toy
“for bauble that but caught the eye and left
the heart ahungered.” Shall the joys, she
makes us exclaim, which we have known here
but barely tasted in this fleeting life, “be
lost amid this promised bliss!” and shall we
“search in vain to find a sorrow that had
fleeted hence before our coming?”—meaning,
apparently, shall we look there in vain for a
loved one who has gone before? She answers
these questions of the heart. Personality persists
beyond the grave, she gives us plainly to
understand. We take with us all of ourselves
but the material elements. “Thou art ye,”
she has said, “and I be me and ye be ye, aye,
ever so.” The transition is but a change from
<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>the material to the spiritual. We “wake in
yesteryear,” she says,—amid the friends and
associations of the past; and the joys of that
life, one must infer, are the spiritual joys of
this one, the joy that comes from love, from
good deeds, from work accomplished. For it
is quite evident that she would have us believe
that there is a continuous advancement in that
other life.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And e’en the crime-stained wretch, abasked in light,</div>
<div class='line'>Shall cast his seed and spring afruit.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>This can mean nothing else than that the
hardened sinner, amid supernal influences,
shall develop into something higher, and as no
one can be supposed to be perfect when leaving
earth, it follows that progress is common to all.
Progress implies effort, and this indicates that
there will be something for everyone to do—a
view quite different from the monotony of
eternal idleness.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>But this I promise at the waking,</div>
<div class='line'>Old joys, and sorrows ripened to a mellow heart.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>To those who would peer into the other land
these are perhaps the most important lines she
has given. But what does she mean by “sorrows
ripened to a mellow heart?” She was
asked to make that plainer and she said:</p>
<p class='c007'>“That that hath flitted hence be sorrows of
earth, and ahere be ripened and thine. Love
alost be sorrow of earth and dwell ahere.”</p>
<p class='c007'>She thus makes these lines an answer to the
question put before:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>What! Should I search in vain</div>
<div class='line'>To find a sorrow that had fleeted hence</div>
<div class='line'>Afore my coming and found it not?</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>These are the sorrows that are “ripened
to a mellow heart,” and she was asked if there
were new sorrows to be borne in that other
life. She replied:</p>
<p class='c010'>“Nay. Earth be a home of sorrow’s dream.
For sorrow be but dream of the soul asleep.
’Tis wake (death) that setteth free.”</p>
<p class='c007'>And after such assurance comes the cry of
faith and content and peace:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>Then do I cease to clutch the emptiness,</div>
<div class='line'>And sleep, and sleep me unafeared!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>With this comforting assurance in mind one
may cheerfully approach her solemn address
to Death:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>Who tracketh ’pon the path o’ me—</div>
<div class='line'>O’ each turn, aye, and track?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Thou! And thou astand!</div>
<div class='line'>And o’er thy face a cloud,</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, a darked and somber cloud!</div>
<div class='line'>Who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>Thou tracker ’mid the day’s bright,</div>
<div class='line'>And ’mid the night’s deep;</div>
<div class='line'>E’en when I be astopped o’ track?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>That toucheth o’ the flesh o’ me,</div>
<div class='line'>And sendeth chill unto the heart o’ me?</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>Who putteth forth thy hand</div>
<div class='line'>And setteth at alow the hopes o’ me?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Aye, who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>Who bideth ever ’mid a dream?</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>Aye, and that the soul o’ me</div>
<div class='line'>Doth shrink at know?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Who art thou? Who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>Who steppeth ever to my day,</div>
<div class='line'>And blotteth o’ the sun away?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Who art thou,</div>
<div class='line'>Who stepped to Earth at birth o’ me,</div>
<div class='line'>And e’en ’mid wail o’ weak,</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, at the birth o’ wail,</div>
<div class='line'>Did set a chill ’pon infant flesh;</div>
<div class='line'>And at the track o’ man ’pon Earth</div>
<div class='line'>Doth follow ever, and at height afollow,</div>
<div class='line'>And doth touch,</div>
<div class='line'>And all doth crumble to a naught.</div>
<div class='line'>Thou! Thou! Who art thou?</div>
<div class='line'>Ever do I to ask, and ever wish</div>
<div class='line'>To see the face o’ thee,</div>
<div class='line'>And ne’er, ne’er do I to know thee—</div>
<div class='line'>Thou, the Traveler ’pon the path o’ me.</div>
<div class='line'>And, Brother, thou dost give</div>
<div class='line'>That which world doth hold</div>
<div class='line'>From see o’ me!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Stand thou! Stand thou!</div>
<div class='line'>And draw thy cloak from o’er thy face!</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>Ever hath the dread o’ thee</div>
<div class='line'>Clutched at the heart o’ me.</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and at the end o’ journey,</div>
<div class='line'>I beseech thee,</div>
<div class='line'>Cast thy cloak and show thee me!</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, show thee me!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah, thou art the gift o’ Him!</div>
<div class='line'>The Key to There! The Love o’ Earth!</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and Hate hath made o’ man</div>
<div class='line'>To know thee not—</div>
<div class='line'>Thou! Thou! O Death!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>She finds Death terrible from the human
point of view, and reveals him at the end as
“the gift of Him, the Key to There!”</p>
<p class='c007'>One of her constant objects seems to be to
rob death of its terrors, and to bring the
“There” into closer and more intimate connection
with us. Here is another effort:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Spring’s morn afulled o’ merry-song,</div>
<div class='line'>Aye, and tickle o’ streams-thread through Summer’s noon;</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Arock o’ hum o’ hearts-throb,</div>
<div class='line'>And danced awhite the air at scorch;</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>Winter’s rage asing o’ cold</div>
<div class='line'>And wail o’ Winter’s sorry at the Summer’s leave;</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ashivered breeze, abear o’ leaf’s rustling</div>
<div class='line'>At dry o’ season’s ripe;</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Night’s deep, where sound astarteth silence;</div>
<div class='line'>Morn’s sweet, awooed by bird’s coax.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Earth’s sounds, ye deem?</div>
<div class='line'>I tell thee ’tis but the echoing o’ Here.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Thy days be naught</div>
<div class='line'>Save coax o’ Here athere!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>All that is worth while on earth is but the
echoes of Heaven, and there would be nothing
to life but for the joys that have been
“coaxed” from there. How closely that
thought unites the here and the there. Earth
sounds but the echoes of the other land adjoining!
She makes it something tangible, something
almost material, something we may
nearly comprehend; and then, having opened
<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>the door a little way, as far, no doubt, as it is
possible for her to do, she presents this response
to human desires, this promise of joys
to come:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c014'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Swift as light-flash o’ storm, swift, swift,</div>
<div class='line'>Would I send the wish o’ thine asearch.</div>
<div class='line'>Swift, swift as bruise o’ swallows’ wing ’pon air,</div>
<div class='line'>I’d send asearch thy wish, areach to lands unseen;</div>
<div class='line'>I’d send aback o’ answer laden.</div>
<div class='line'>Swift, swift, would I to flee unto the Naught</div>
<div class='line'>Thou knowest as the Here.</div>
<div class='line'>Swift, swift I’d bear aback to thee</div>
<div class='line'>What thou wouldst seek. Swift, swift,</div>
<div class='line'>Would I to bear aback to thee.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Dost deem the path ahid doth lead to naught?</div>
<div class='line'>Dost deem thy footfall leadest thee to nothingness?</div>
<div class='line'>Dost pin not ’pon His word o’ promising,</div>
<div class='line'>And art at sorry and afear to follow Him?</div>
<div class='line'>I’d put athin thy cup a sweet, a pledge o’ love’s-buy.</div>
<div class='line'>I’d send aback a glad-song o’ this land.</div>
<div class='line'>Sing thou, sing on, though thou art ne’er aheard—</div>
<div class='line'>Like love awaked, the joy o’ breath</div>
<div class='line'>Anew born o’ His loving.</div>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>Set thee at rest, and trod the path unfearing.</div>
<div class='line'>For He who putteth joy to earth, aplanted joy</div>
<div class='line'>Athin the reach o’ thee, e’en through</div>
<div class='line'>The dark o’ path at end o’ journey.</div>
<div class='line'>His smile! His word! His loving!</div>
<div class='line'>Put forth thy hand at glad, and I do promise thee</div>
<div class='line'>That Joy o’ earth asupped shall fall as naught,</div>
<div class='line'>And thou shalt sup thee deep o’ joys,</div>
<div class='line'>O’ Bearer, aye, and Source; and like glad light o’ day</div>
<div class='line'>And sweet o’ love, thy coming here shall be!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c007'>With this promise, this covenant, we bring
the narrative of Patience to an end. There
will be many and widely varied views of the
nature of this intelligence, but surely there can
be but one opinion of the beauty of her words
and the purity of her purpose. She has
brought a message of love at a time when the
world is sadly deficient in that attribute, wisely
believed to be the best thing in earth or heaven;
and an inspiration to faith that was never so
greatly in need of strength as now. An inevitable
consequence of the world-war will be a
universal introspection. There will be a great
turning of thought to serious things. That
<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>tendency is already discernible. May it not be
possible that it is the mission of Patience
Worth to answer the question that is above all
questions at a time when humanity is filled
with interrogation?</p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c002'>
<div>FINIS.</div>
</div></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>
<h2 class='c003'>INDEX</h2></div>
<div class='lg-container-l c031'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Affection, <SPAN href='#Page_46'>46</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Allegory, on faith (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_255'>255</SPAN>-266</div>
<div class='line in1'>Anatomist. <i>See</i> Teacher of anatomy</div>
<div class='line in1'>Anglo-Saxon, <SPAN href='#Page_104'>104</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Anne, <SPAN href='#Page_145'>145</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_146'>146</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Ape, <SPAN href='#Page_112'>112</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_117'>117</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Aphorisms, <SPAN href='#Page_19'>19</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Attunement, <SPAN href='#Page_203'>203</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Autumn (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_82'>82</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_83'>83</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_84'>84</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>B., Mrs., <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Babe, parable of a, <SPAN href='#Page_168'>168</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Bartman, parable of a, <SPAN href='#Page_165'>165</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Basketmaker, parable of the, <SPAN href='#Page_167'>167</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Beppo, <SPAN href='#Page_112'>112</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Birth of a Song (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_86'>86</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_87'>87</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Blank verse, <SPAN href='#Page_21'>21</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_64'>64</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_107'>107</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Book learning, <SPAN href='#Page_251'>251</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Books, <SPAN href='#Page_60'>60</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Botanist. <i>See</i> Teacher of botany</div>
<div class='line in1'>Brew, <SPAN href='#Page_185'>185</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>“Builder of dreams” (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_85'>85</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_86'>86</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Burke, <SPAN href='#Page_89'>89</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Capital punishment, <SPAN href='#Page_217'>217</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Carrington, W. T., quoted, <SPAN href='#Page_6'>6</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Charlie, Prince, <SPAN href='#Page_145'>145</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_146'>146</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Childhood, tone of, <SPAN href='#Page_51'>51</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Christ, <SPAN href='#Page_122'>122</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Attitude toward, <SPAN href='#Page_244'>244</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Christmas (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_99'>99</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Christmas story, <SPAN href='#Page_122'>122</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_123'>123</SPAN>-141</div>
<div class='line in1'>Cloak, parable of the, <SPAN href='#Page_171'>171</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Cockshut, <SPAN href='#Page_57'>57</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Communications, character, <SPAN href='#Page_32'>32</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_202'>202</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_203'>203</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Genuineness, <SPAN href='#Page_33'>33</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_39'>39</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_41'>41</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Intellectual character 9, <SPAN href='#Page_11'>11</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Method, <SPAN href='#Page_187'>187</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Compliments, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Composition, method, <SPAN href='#Page_66'>66</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_67'>67</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_80'>80</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_164'>164</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_185'>185</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Conversations, character, <SPAN href='#Page_173'>173</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_174'>174</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in5'>Substance in her words, <SPAN href='#Page_211'>211</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Cup, <SPAN href='#Page_224'>224</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_225'>225</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Curran, John H., <SPAN href='#Page_53'>53</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_178'>178</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_199'>199</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Curran, Mrs. John H., <SPAN href='#Page_3'>3</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_4'>4</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_14'>14</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_31'>31</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_41'>41</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_45'>45</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_46'>46</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_187'>187</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_188'>188</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_189'>189</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_201'>201</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_205'>205</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in5'>Education, <SPAN href='#Page_34'>34</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in5'>Sittings, <SPAN href='#Page_35'>35</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_36'>36</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>D., Dr. and Mrs., <SPAN href='#Page_207'>207</SPAN>-212</div>
<div class='line in1'>Day, pæan to the (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_84'>84</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Death, fear of, <SPAN href='#Page_196'>196</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Fear of (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_267'>267</SPAN>-269</div>
<div class='line in4'>Life following, <SPAN href='#Page_79'>79</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>robbed of terrors, <SPAN href='#Page_281'>281</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Solemn address to (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_279'>279</SPAN>-281</div>
<div class='line in1'>Devotional verse, <SPAN href='#Page_97'>97</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Divinity of the human, <SPAN href='#Page_245'>245</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Doubt (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_265'>265</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Dougal, <SPAN href='#Page_145'>145</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_146'>146</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Drama, <SPAN href='#Page_109'>109</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Six-act medieval play described, <SPAN href='#Page_142'>142</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Dress, references to, <SPAN href='#Page_52'>52</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_56'>56</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_192'>192</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'><span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>Dreams. <i>See</i> “Builder of dreams”</div>
<div class='line in4'><i>See</i> Phantom <i>also</i></div>
<div class='line in1'>Dreamer (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_72'>72</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_73'>73</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Earth questions, reasoning upon, <SPAN href='#Page_217'>217</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Eastern morn, <SPAN href='#Page_144'>144</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_145'>145</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>England, <SPAN href='#Page_15'>15</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_33'>33</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_149'>149</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Northern, <SPAN href='#Page_60'>60</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Epigrams. <i>See</i> Aphorisms</div>
<div class='line in1'>Ermaline, Princess, <SPAN href='#Page_145'>145</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_146'>146</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Failures in life, <SPAN href='#Page_227'>227</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Fairy’s wand, parable of, <SPAN href='#Page_168'>168</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Faith, allegory on (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_255'>255</SPAN>-266</div>
<div class='line in4'>Triumph of (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_253'>253</SPAN>-266</div>
<div class='line in1'>Femininity, <SPAN href='#Page_42'>42</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_52'>52</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Flesh. <i>See</i> Soul</div>
<div class='line in1'>Folly, <SPAN href='#Page_221'>221</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_222'>222</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Fool, <SPAN href='#Page_112'>112</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Fool and the Lady, The (story), <SPAN href='#Page_109'>109</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_111'>111</SPAN>-121</div>
<div class='line in1'>Franco, <SPAN href='#Page_151'>151</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Friendship (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_96'>96</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Fun-loving spirit, <SPAN href='#Page_53'>53</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Future. <i>See</i> Immortality</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>G., Miss, <SPAN href='#Page_207'>207</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>G., Mr., <SPAN href='#Page_208'>208</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>G., Mrs., <SPAN href='#Page_207'>207</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>God, <SPAN href='#Page_226'>226</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Identity with, <SPAN href='#Page_242'>242</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Love for (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_237'>237</SPAN>-239</div>
<div class='line in4'>Song of, <SPAN href='#Page_193'>193</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>“Hands” (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_233'>233</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Harp (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_86'>86</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_87'>87</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Herbs, story of the, <SPAN href='#Page_212'>212</SPAN>-215</div>
<div class='line in1'>Holmes, John Haynes, quoted, <SPAN href='#Page_10'>10</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Hours of day (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_215'>215</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Housekeeping, <SPAN href='#Page_42'>42</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Humor, <SPAN href='#Page_31'>31</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>in verse, <SPAN href='#Page_74'>74</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_75'>75</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_76'>76</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Hutchings, Mr., <SPAN href='#Page_53'>53</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Hutchings, Mrs. Emily Grant, <SPAN href='#Page_4'>4</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_44'>44</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_188'>188</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Imagery, <SPAN href='#Page_72'>72</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_78'>78</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Immortality, growth, <SPAN href='#Page_277'>277</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Mystery, <SPAN href='#Page_249'>249</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_250'>250</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Nature, <SPAN href='#Page_272'>272</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Reality, <SPAN href='#Page_247'>247</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Recognition of friends, <SPAN href='#Page_270'>270</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_276'>276</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Impatience, <SPAN href='#Page_45'>45</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_46'>46</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Individuality, <SPAN href='#Page_41'>41</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Infancy, <SPAN href='#Page_92'>92</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_94'>94</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Inn of Falcon Feather, <SPAN href='#Page_111'>111</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>J., Miss, <SPAN href='#Page_189'>189</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_192'>192</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_193'>193</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>James, Wm., <SPAN href='#Page_199'>199</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_200'>200</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Jana, <SPAN href='#Page_127'>127</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Jane-o’-apes, <SPAN href='#Page_58'>58</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_131'>131</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>John the Peaceful, <SPAN href='#Page_122'>122</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_123'>123</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_132'>132</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Joy, promise of future, <SPAN href='#Page_283'>283</SPAN>-284</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>K., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_195'>195</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_199'>199</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>King of Wisdom, <SPAN href='#Page_221'>221</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Kirtle, <SPAN href='#Page_55'>55</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_56'>56</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Language, <SPAN href='#Page_13'>13</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_56'>56</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_104'>104</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_149'>149</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_150'>150</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_153'>153</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_164'>164</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_189'>189</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Laughter, <SPAN href='#Page_168'>168</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Leaf, fallen (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_82'>82</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Leta, <SPAN href='#Page_124'>124</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Life for a life, <SPAN href='#Page_218'>218</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Life likened to the seasons (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_252'>252</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Lisa, <SPAN href='#Page_109'>109</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_112'>112</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Literature, <SPAN href='#Page_223'>223</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_224'>224</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Love, childhood, <SPAN href='#Page_51'>51</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Divine (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_235'>235</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_236'>236</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>for Christ, <SPAN href='#Page_244'>244</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>for the loveless (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_226'>226</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>for the wearied (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_227'>227</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Friendly, <SPAN href='#Page_96'>96</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>God’s (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_97'>97</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Man and woman (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_94'>94</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'><span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>maternal, <SPAN href='#Page_92'>92</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_94'>94</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Religious, <SPAN href='#Page_226'>226</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Song, “Drink ye unto me,” 180</div>
<div class='line in4'>to God (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_237'>237</SPAN>-239</div>
<div class='line in4'>Universal, <SPAN href='#Page_234'>234</SPAN></div>
<div class='line'>“Loves of yester’s day” (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_88'>88</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Lullaby, <SPAN href='#Page_64'>64</SPAN>, example, <SPAN href='#Page_68'>68</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Spinning Wheel, <SPAN href='#Page_69'>69</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>M., Mr. and Mrs., <SPAN href='#Page_207'>207</SPAN>-210</div>
<div class='line in1'>Marion, <SPAN href='#Page_153'>153</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Mary, the Virgin, <SPAN href='#Page_245'>245</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Marye, Lady, <SPAN href='#Page_122'>122</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_123'>123</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Massinger, <SPAN href='#Page_58'>58</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Maxims. <i>See</i> Aphorisms</div>
<div class='line in1'>Men, attitude toward, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Men and women, <SPAN href='#Page_94'>94</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Merchants, parable of, <SPAN href='#Page_166'>166</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Message, <SPAN href='#Page_224'>224</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Metaphor, borrowed, <SPAN href='#Page_78'>78</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_79'>79</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Metaphysics, <SPAN href='#Page_29'>29</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Mise-man song, <SPAN href='#Page_179'>179</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Mission, <SPAN href='#Page_284'>284</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Mite and the Seeds, tale of the, <SPAN href='#Page_176'>176</SPAN>-178</div>
<div class='line in1'>Musician, <SPAN href='#Page_208'>208</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Nature, Love of, <SPAN href='#Page_25'>25</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_79'>79</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Value of, <SPAN href='#Page_251'>251</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Neurologist, <SPAN href='#Page_204'>204</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>New England, <SPAN href='#Page_15'>15</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_33'>33</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>New Year (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_101'>101</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Newspaper article, <SPAN href='#Page_215'>215</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Newspaper writer, <SPAN href='#Page_189'>189</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Ouija board, <SPAN href='#Page_1'>1</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_5'>5</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_65'>65</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_187'>187</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>P., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_204'>204</SPAN>-207</div>
<div class='line in1'>Parables, <SPAN href='#Page_165'>165</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Story of the herbs, <SPAN href='#Page_212'>212</SPAN>-215</div>
<div class='line in1'>Personality, <SPAN href='#Page_59'>59</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Pettieskirt, <SPAN href='#Page_52'>52</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_54'>54</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_56'>56</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_154'>154</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_186'>186</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_205'>205</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Phantom and the Dreamer, The (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_255'>255</SPAN>-266</div>
<div class='line in1'>Physicians, <SPAN href='#Page_204'>204</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Physician, conversation with a young, <SPAN href='#Page_16'>16</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Description, <SPAN href='#Page_50'>50</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Poetry. <i>See</i> Songs; Verse</div>
<div class='line in1'>Pollard, Mrs. Mary E., <SPAN href='#Page_5'>5</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_43'>43</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_44'>44</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Prayers, Character, <SPAN href='#Page_239'>239</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_243'>243</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Examples (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_239'>239</SPAN>-244</div>
<div class='line in1'>“Primrose path,” 77, <SPAN href='#Page_78'>78</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Prose, <SPAN href='#Page_107'>107</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Psychic communications. <i>See</i> Communications</div>
<div class='line in1'>Puritan, <SPAN href='#Page_55'>55</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_59'>59</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_69'>69</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_192'>192</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>“Put,” 186-189</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>R., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_204'>204</SPAN>-207</div>
<div class='line in1'>Records of communications, character, <SPAN href='#Page_3'>3</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Regal, <SPAN href='#Page_123'>123</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Religion, <SPAN href='#Page_223'>223</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_226'>226</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Revelation, <SPAN href='#Page_225'>225</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_226'>226</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Rhyme, <SPAN href='#Page_21'>21</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_64'>64</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Rhythm, <SPAN href='#Page_107'>107</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Sarcasm, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Scottish, <SPAN href='#Page_60'>60</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Seed, <SPAN href='#Page_224'>224</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_225'>225</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Seeds. <i>See</i> Mite and the Seeds</div>
<div class='line in1'>Self, <SPAN href='#Page_221'>221</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_222'>222</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Shakespeare, <SPAN href='#Page_57'>57</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_77'>77</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_104'>104</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Shelley, <SPAN href='#Page_90'>90</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_105'>105</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Simplicity, <SPAN href='#Page_104'>104</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_105'>105</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Sittings, character, <SPAN href='#Page_18'>18</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_35'>35</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Skylark (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_89'>89</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Society for Psychical Research, <SPAN href='#Page_223'>223</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Song, birth of a (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_86'>86</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_87'>87</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Songs, <SPAN href='#Page_173'>173</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>“Do I love the morn?” 215</div>
<div class='line in4'>“Drink ye unto me,” 180</div>
<div class='line in4'>“Gone, gone,” 198</div>
<div class='line in4'>“How have I sought!” 203</div>
<div class='line in4'>“Loth as Night,” 211</div>
<div class='line in4'>Mise-man, <SPAN href='#Page_179'>179</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>To Miss J., <SPAN href='#Page_193'>193</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>To Mr. G., a musician, <SPAN href='#Page_208'>208</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'><span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>Sorrow, comfort for, <SPAN href='#Page_231'>231</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>“Sorrows ripened to a mellow heart,” 275, <SPAN href='#Page_278'>278</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Soul, <SPAN href='#Page_190'>190</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Body and, <SPAN href='#Page_218'>218</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Spelling, <SPAN href='#Page_66'>66</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Spinning, <SPAN href='#Page_206'>206</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Spinning Wheel (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_69'>69</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Spinster, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_69'>69</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Spirituality, <SPAN href='#Page_24'>24</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_152'>152</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Spring (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_81'>81</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Stories, <SPAN href='#Page_108'>108</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Character, <SPAN href='#Page_185'>185</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Dramatic character, <SPAN href='#Page_109'>109</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Story of Telka, described, <SPAN href='#Page_149'>149</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>“Story of the Judge Bush,” 153-163</div>
<div class='line in1'>Stranger, The (story), <SPAN href='#Page_108'>108</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_122'>122</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_123'>123</SPAN>-141</div>
<div class='line in1'>Subconsciousness, <SPAN href='#Page_34'>34</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_35'>35</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Teacher of anatomy, <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_190'>190</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Teacher of botany, <SPAN href='#Page_183'>183</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Telka, <SPAN href='#Page_149'>149</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_150'>150</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Theater, <SPAN href='#Page_53'>53</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Throb, <SPAN href='#Page_202'>202</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Timon, <SPAN href='#Page_124'>124</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Tina, <SPAN href='#Page_124'>124</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Tonio, <SPAN href='#Page_113'>113</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Tournament, <SPAN href='#Page_114'>114</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Tricksters, <SPAN href='#Page_208'>208</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Triviality, <SPAN href='#Page_10'>10</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Truth, <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>V., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_195'>195</SPAN>-201</div>
<div class='line in1'>Verse, <SPAN href='#Page_21'>21</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Dictation, manner, <SPAN href='#Page_65'>65</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Range, <SPAN href='#Page_63'>63</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in4'>Technique, <SPAN href='#Page_65'>65</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_81'>81</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Virgin Mary, <SPAN href='#Page_245'>245</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>W., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_176'>176</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_178'>178</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>W., Mrs., <SPAN href='#Page_176'>176</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_178'>178</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>War, <SPAN href='#Page_284'>284</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>War (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_91'>91</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>“Waste of earth” (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_228'>228</SPAN>-231</div>
<div class='line in1'>Wasted words, <SPAN href='#Page_243'>243</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Wearied ones, <SPAN href='#Page_227'>227</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>“Weaving,” 175</div>
<div class='line in1'>Widow, visitor at the Currans, <SPAN href='#Page_217'>217</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_218'>218</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Wind (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_75'>75</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Winter (verse), <SPAN href='#Page_79'>79</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_80'>80</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Wisdom, <SPAN href='#Page_222'>222</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Wit, <SPAN href='#Page_18'>18</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_19'>19</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>Worth, Patience, advent, <SPAN href='#Page_2'>2</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>affection, <SPAN href='#Page_46'>46</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>appearance, <SPAN href='#Page_207'>207</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>book learning, <SPAN href='#Page_60'>60</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>date, <SPAN href='#Page_37'>37</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_197'>197</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>elusiveness, <SPAN href='#Page_60'>60</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>femininity, <SPAN href='#Page_42'>42</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_52'>52</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>fun-loving spirit, <SPAN href='#Page_53'>53</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>impatience, <SPAN href='#Page_45'>45</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_46'>46</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>individuality, <SPAN href='#Page_41'>41</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>laughter, love of, <SPAN href='#Page_168'>168</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>love her inspiration, <SPAN href='#Page_234'>234</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>men, attitude toward, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>message, <SPAN href='#Page_224'>224</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>mission, <SPAN href='#Page_284'>284</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_285'>285</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>obscurity, <SPAN href='#Page_199'>199</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>on being investigated, <SPAN href='#Page_196'>196</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>personality, <SPAN href='#Page_12'>12</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_59'>59</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_220'>220</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_224'>224</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>phrases, striking, <SPAN href='#Page_40'>40</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>place, <SPAN href='#Page_38'>38</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>revelation, <SPAN href='#Page_226'>226</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>sarcasm, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>speech, <SPAN href='#Page_39'>39</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_56'>56</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_104'>104</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_149'>149</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_150'>150</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_153'>153</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_164'>164</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_189'>189</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>spinster, <SPAN href='#Page_49'>49</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_69'>69</SPAN>;</div>
<div class='line in4'>substance in her words, <SPAN href='#Page_211'>211</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>X., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN>-195, <SPAN href='#Page_204'>204</SPAN></div>
<div class='line in1'>X., Mrs., <SPAN href='#Page_182'>182</SPAN>, <SPAN href='#Page_183'>183</SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>Z., Dr., <SPAN href='#Page_187'>187</SPAN>-189</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c016' /></div>
<p class='c032'>“An Authentic Original Voice in Literature.”—<i>The Atlantic
Monthly.</i></p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'>ROBERT FROST</span></div>
<div>The New American Poet</div>
<div class='c001'><span class='xlarge'>NORTH OF BOSTON</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c033'><i>Alice Brown</i>:</p>
<p class='c033'>“Mr. Frost has done truer work about New England than anybody—except
Miss Wilkins.”</p>
<p class='c034'><i>New York Evening Sun</i>:</p>
<p class='c033'>“The poet had the insight to trust the people with the book of
the people and the people replied ‘Man, what is your name?’...
He forsakes utterly the claptrap of pastoral song, classical
or modern.... His is soil stuff, not mock bucolics.”</p>
<p class='c034'><i>Boston Transcript</i>:</p>
<p class='c033'>“The first poet for half a century to express New England
life completely with a fresh, original and appealing way of his
own.”</p>
<p class='c034'><i>Brooklyn Daily Eagle</i>:</p>
<p class='c033'>“The more you read the more you are held, and when you
return a few days later to look up some passage that has
followed you about, the better you find the meat under the
simple unpretentious form. <i>The London Times</i> caught that
quality when it said: ‘Poetry burns up out of it, as when a
faint wind breathes upon smouldering embers.’... That is
precisely the effect....”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c016' /></div>
<p class='c032'><span class='xlarge'>A BOY’S WILL</span> Mr. Frost’s First Volume of Poetry</p>
<p class='c034'><i>The Academy</i> (<i>London</i>):</p>
<p class='c033'>“We have read every line with that amazement and delight
which are too seldom evoked by books of modern verse.”</p>
<table class='table1' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='44%' />
<col width='55%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><i>NORTH OF BOSTON.</i></td>
<td class='c006'><i>Cloth. $2.35 net.</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><i>NORTH OF BOSTON.</i></td>
<td class='c006'><i>Leather. $2.00 net.</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c005'><i>A BOY’S WILL.</i></td>
<td class='c006'><i>Cloth. 75 cents net.</i></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c016' /></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c016'>
<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span><b><span class='large'><em class='gesperrt'>JEAN-CHRISTOPHE</em></span></b></div>
<div class='c001'><b><i>By ROMAIN ROLLAND</i></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c033'>Translated from the French by <span class='sc'>Gilbert Cannan</span>. In
three volumes, each $1.50 net.</p>
<p class='c033'>This great trilogy, the life story of a musician, at first
the sensation of musical circles in Paris, has come to be one
of the most discussed books among literary circles in France,
England and America.</p>
<p class='c033'>Each volume of the American edition has its own individual
interest, can be understood without the other, and
comes to a definite conclusion.</p>
<p class='c033'><i>The three volumes with the titles of the French volumes
included are:</i></p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b>JEAN-CHRISTOPHE</b></div>
<div><span class='sc'>Dawn—Morning—Youth—Revolt</span></div>
<div class='c001'><b>JEAN-CHRISTOPHE IN PARIS</b></div>
<div><span class='sc'>The Market Place—Antoinette—The House</span></div>
<div class='c001'><b>JEAN-CHRISTOPHE: JOURNEY’S END</b></div>
<div><span class='sc'>Love and Friendship—The Burning Bush—The New Dawn</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><i>Some Noteworthy Comments</i></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c035'>“‘Hats off, gentlemen—a genius.’... One may mention ‘Jean-Christophe’
in the same breath with Balzac’s ‘Lost Illusions’; it is as big
as that.... It is moderate praise to call it with Edmund Gosse ’the
noblest work of fiction of the twentieth century.’... A book as
big, as elemental, as original as though the art of fiction began today....
We have nothing comparable in English literature....”—<i>Springfield
Republican.</i></p>
<p class='c035'>“If a man wishes to understand those devious currents which make
up the great, changing sea of modern life, there is hardly a single
book more illustrative, more informing and more inspiring.”—<i>Current
Opinion.</i></p>
<p class='c035'>“Must rank as one of the very few important works of fiction of the
last decade. A vital compelling work. We who love it feel that it
will live.”—<i>Independent.</i></p>
<p class='c035'>“The most momentous novel that has come to us from France, or
from any other European country, in a decade.”—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p>
<p class='c033'><i>A 32-page booklet about Romain Rolland and Jean-Christophe,
with portraits and complete reviews, on request.</i></p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c016' /></div>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>
<h3 class='c021'><b><span class='large'><em class='gesperrt'>THE HOME BOOK OF VERSE</em></span></b></h3></div>
<p class='c034'>“A collection so complete and distinguished that it is difficult
to find any other approaching it sufficiently for comparison.”—<i>N.
Y. Times Book Review.</i></p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>Compiled by <span class='large'>BURTON E. STEVENSON</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c036'>Collects the best short poetry of the English language—not
only the poetry everybody says is good, but also the verses that
everybody reads. (<i>3742 pages, India paper, complete author,
title and first line indices.</i>)</p>
<p class='c036'>The most comprehensive and representative collection of
American and English poetry ever published, including 3,120
unabridged poems from some 1,100 authors.</p>
<p class='c036'>It brings together in one volume the best short poetry of the
English language from the time of Spencer, with especial attention
to American verse.</p>
<p class='c036'>The copyright deadline has been passed, and some three
hundred recent authors are included, very few of whom appear
in any other general anthology, such as Lionel Johnson, Noyes,
Housman, Mrs. Meynell, Yeats, Dobson, Lang, Watson, Wilde,
Francis Thompson, Gilder, Le Gallienne, Van Dyke, Woodberry,
Riley, etc., etc.</p>
<p class='c036'>The poems as arranged by subject, and the classification is
unusually close and searching. Some of the most comprehensive
sections are: Children’s rhymes (300 pages); love poems
(800 pages); nature poetry (400 pages); humorous verse (500
pages); patriotic and historical poems (600 pages); reflective
and descriptive poetry (400 pages). No other collection contains
so many popular favorites and fugitive verses.</p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c018'>
<div><i>India Paper Editions</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c018'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Cloth, one volume, $7.50 net.</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>Cloth, two volumes, $10.00 net.</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>Half Morocco, one volume, $12.50 net.</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>Three-quarters Morocco, two volumes, $18.00 net.</i></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c018'>
<div><i>EIGHT VOLUME EDITION ON REGULAR BOOK PAPER.</i></div>
<div><i>SOLD IN SETS ONLY. $12.00 NET.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c016' /></div>
<p class='c032'><span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span><b>MASON’S HYPNOTISM AND SUGGESTION in Therapeutics
Education, and Reform.</b> <span class='small'>344 pp. 12mo. $1.50.</span></p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center c037'>
<div><b>2d Impression</b> of a popular yet scientific work.</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c038'><i>Book Buyer</i>: “The tone of Dr. Mason’s book could not be better....
The statements of a modest, earnest, candid man of
science, who is not thinking of himself, but who, through facts,
is seeking after law and through law, for the newer therapeutics,
the wider education, the nobler living.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>N. Y. Herald</i>: “Written by a practising physician, who
finds an incidental interest in the scientific study of an important
subject. Dr. Mason does not seek to astonish you with the
record of hypnotic marvels performed by himself. He deprecates
the sensational ways in which hypnotism has been exploited
by the periodicals and the press, so that the unlearned
and unstable have been duped into all sorts of extravagant ideas
as to its possibilities.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>Public Opinion</i>: “A model of simplicity and common sense.
The book gives a clear idea of the meaning of hypnotism and
suggestion in a scientific sense, but it is to be more highly
valued for its exposition of the utilities (and illustrations) of
these agents of reform and therapeutics. The chapter concerning
‘Rapport’ is to be especially recommended to those who
find in the phenomena of subconsciousness support for supernatural
and spiritistic theories.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>Chicago Evening Post</i>: “He discusses the question with
earnestness, candor and many illustrations.... He says many
things that are sensible and suggestive.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>Churchman</i>: “The book has a very practical value, and considerable
ethical significance.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c016' /></div>
<p class='c032'><b>MASON’S TELEPATHY AND THE SUBLIMINAL SELF.</b>
<span class='small'>Treating of Hypnotism, Automatism, Dreams, and Phantasms.</span></p>
<p class='c039'><b>5th Impression.</b> 343 pp. 12mo. $1.50.</p>
<p class='c038'><i>Boston Transcript</i>: “He repudiates the idea of the supernatural
altogether, and in this he is in accord with the best
thought of the day.... Interesting and logical.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>N. Y. Times</i>: “The curious matter he treats about he presents
in an interesting manner.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>Outlook</i>: “Will have many readers.... A not inconsiderable
contribution to psychical research.”</p>
<p class='c038'><i>Chicago Tribune</i>: “Certain to attract wide attention; ...
thoroughly interesting.... The spirit of his work is such as to
deserve respectful attention from every scientific mind.”</p>
<div class='nf-center-c1'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><em class='gesperrt'>HENRY HOLT & CO.</em></span></div>
<div>29 West 23d Street New York</div>
</div></div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' /></div>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c003'>Transcriber's Notes</h2></div>
<div class='lg-container-l c031'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Generally, older or dialectual spellings were left unchanged.</div>
<div class='line'>A couple of obviously needed typographical changes were made.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>In addition:</div>
<div class='line in2'>On page 231 "thornéd" was changed to "thornèd"</div>
<div class='line in2'>In the Index page "365" for 'Doubt' was changed to page "265".</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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