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diff --git a/old/50810-0.txt b/old/50810-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 91ed915..0000000 --- a/old/50810-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7237 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Patience Worth, by Casper Salathiel Yost - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Patience Worth - A Psychic Mystery - -Author: Casper Salathiel Yost - -Release Date: December 31, 2015 [EBook #50810] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATIENCE WORTH *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Elizabeth Oscanyan and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - PATIENCE WORTH - - A PSYCHIC MYSTERY - - - - - By - - CASPER S. YOST - - - - -[Illustration: colophon] - - - - - NEW YORK - HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - 1916 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1916 - - BY - - HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - - _Published February, 1916_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PREFACE - - -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 and the -communications themselves, which are described, explained and, in some -cases, interpreted, where an effort at interpretation seems to be -desirable. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE COMING OF PATIENCE WORTH 1 - - NATURE OF THE COMMUNICATIONS 9 - - PERSONALITY OF PATIENCE 37 - - THE POETRY 63 - - THE PROSE 107 - - CONVERSATIONS 173 - - RELIGION 223 - - THE IDEAS ON IMMORTALITY 247 - - INDEX 287 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE COMING OF PATIENCE WORTH - - -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. - -But upon this night they received a visitor. The pointer suddenly became -endowed with an unusual agility, and with great rapidity presented this -introduction: - -“Many moons ago I lived. Again I come. Patience Worth my name.” - -The women gazed, round-eyed, at each other, and the board continued: - -“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.” - -“How quaint that is!” one of the women exclaimed. - -“Good Mother Wisdom is too harsh for thee,” said the board, “and thou -shouldst love her only as a foster mother.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -The women referred to are Mrs. John H. Curran, wife of the former -Immigration Commissioner 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 mother, Mrs. Mary -E. Pollard, occasionally taking his place. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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.” - -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 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. - - - - - NATURE OF THE COMMUNICATIONS - - “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.”—PATIENCE WORTH. - - -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. - -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 again there is a descent to obscurity and feeble chattering.” - -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 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. - - * * * * * - -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 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 -“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. - -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. - -All of her knowledge of material things seems to be drawn from English -associations. She is surprisingly familiar with the trees and 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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -Here is an example of her conversation from 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. - -As the ladies took the board, the doctor remarked: - -“I hope Patience Worth will come. I’d like to find out what her game -is.” - -Patience was there and instantly responded: - -“Dost, then, desire the plucking of another goose?” - -_Doctor._—“By George, she’s right there with the grease, isn’t she?” - -_Patience._—“Enough to baste the last upon the spit.” - -_Doctor._—“Well, that’s quick wit for you. Pretty hard to catch her.” - -_Patience._—“The salt of today will not serve to catch the bird of -tomorrow.” - -_Doctor._—“She’d better call herself the bird of yesterday. I wonder -what kind of a mind she had, anyway.” - -_Patience._—“Dost crave to taste the sauce?” - -_Doctor._—“She holds to her simile of the goose. I wish you’d ask her -how she makes that little table move under your hands to spell the -words.” - -_Patience._—“A wise cook telleth not the brew.” - -_Doctor._—“Turn that board over and let me see what’s under it.” - -This was done, and after his inspection it was reversed. - -_Patience._—“Thee’lt bump thy nose to look within the hopper.” - -_Doctor._—“Whew! She doesn’t mind handing you one, does she?” - -_Mrs. Pollard._—“That’s Patience’s way. She doesn’t think we count for -anything.” - -_Patience._—“The bell-cow doth deem the good folk go to Sabboth house -from the ringing of her bell.” - -_Doctor._—“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.” - -_Patience._—“So the donkey loveth his bray!” - -_The Doctor’s Wife._—“You can draw her on all you please. I’m going to -keep perfectly still.” - -_Patience._—“Oh, e’en the mouse will have a nibble.” - -_Mrs. Curran._—“There! She isn’t going to let you off without a little -roast. I wonder what she has to say to you.” - -_Patience._—“Did’st ever see the brood hen puff up with self-esteem when -all her chicks go for a swim?” - -_Doctor._—“Let’s analyze that and see if there’s anything in it.” - -_Patience._—“Strain the potion. Mayhap thou wilt find a fly.” - - * * * * * - -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. The _assistance_ 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. - -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: - - “A lollypop is but a breeder of pain.” - - “An old goose gobbles the grain like a gosling.” - - “Dead resolves are sorry fare.” - - “The goose knoweth where the bin leaketh.” - - “Quills of sages were plucked from geese.” - - “Puddings fit for lords would sour the belly of the swineboy.” - - “To clap the cover on a steaming pot of herbs will but modify[1] the - stench.” - -Footnote 1: - - A word of this degree of latinity is very rare with her. - - “She who quacketh loudest deems the gander not the lead at waddling - time.” - - “Climb not the stars to find a pebble.” - - “He who hath a house, a hearth and a friend hath a lucky lot.” - -She is often caustic and incisive. - - “A man loveth his wife, but, ah, the buckles on his knee breeks!” - - “Should I present thee with a pumpkin, wouldst thou desire to count - the seeds?” - - “A drink of asses’ milk would nurture the swine, but wouldst thou - then expect his song to change from Want, Want, Want?” - - “Some folk, like the bell without a clapper, go clanging on in good - faith, believing the good folk can hear them.” - - “Were I to tell thee the pudding string were a spinet’s string, thou - wouldst make ready for the dance.” - - “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.” - - “’Twould pleg thee sore should thy shadow wear cap and bells.” - - “From constant wishing the moon may tip for thee.” - - “Wouldst thou have a daisy blossom upon a thistle?” - - “Ye who carry pigskins to the well and lace not the hole are a - tiresome lot.” - - “He who eateth a bannock well made flattereth himself should his - belly not sour.” - -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 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. - - A blighted bud may hold - A sweeter message than the loveliest flower. - For God hath kissed her wounded heart - And left a promise there. - - A cloak of lies may clothe a golden truth. - The sunlight’s warmth may fade its glossy black - To whitening green and prove the fault - Of weak and shoddy dye. - - Oh, why let sorrow steel thy heart? - Thy busom is but its foster mother, - The world its cradle, and the loving home - Its grave. - - Weave sorrow on the loom of love - And warp the loom with faith. - - -Such fragments, however, were but steps leading to larger things. A -little later on this came: - - So thou hast trod among the tansey tuft - And murr and thyme, and gathered all the garden’s store, - And glutted on the lillie’s sensuous sweet, - And let thy shade to mar the sunny path, - And only paused to strike the slender humming bird, - Whose molten-tinted wing but spoke the song - Of fluttering joy, and in thy very hand - Turned to motley gray. Then thinkest thou - To build the garden back by trickery? - - -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: - - Long lines of leaden cloud; a purple sea; - White gulls skimming across the spray. - Oh dissonant cry! Art thou - The death cry of desire? - - Ah, wail, ye winds, - And search ye for my dearest wish - Along the rugged coast, and down - Where purling waters whisper - To the rosy coral reef. - Ah, search! Ah, search! - And when ye return, bring ye the answering. - - Do I stand and call unto the sea for answer? - Ah, wisdom, where art thou? - A gull but shows thee to the Southland, - And leaden sky but warneth thee of storm. - And wind, thou art but a changeling. - So, shall I call to thee? Not so. - I build not upon the spray, - And seek not within the smaller world, - For God dwelleth not abroad, but deep within. - -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 makes these -communications seem to stand alone among the numerous messages that are -alleged to have come from “that undiscovered country.” - -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. - - All silver-laced with web and crystal-studded, hangs - A golden lily cup, as airy as a dancing sprite. - The moon hath caught a fleeting cloud, and rests in her embrace. - The bumblefly still hovers o’er the clover flower, - And mimics all the zephyr’s song. White butterflies, - Whose wings bespeak late wooing of the buttercup, - Wend home their way, the gold still clinging to their snowy gossamer. - E’en the toad, who old and moss-grown seems, - Is wabbled on a lilypad, and watches for the moon - To bid the cloud adieu and light him to his hunt - For fickle marsh flies who tease him through the day. - Why, every rose has loosed her petals, - And sends a pleading perfume to the moss - That creeps upon the maple’s stalk, to tempt it hence - To bear a cooling draught. Round yonder trunk - The ivy clings and loves it into green. - The pansy dreams of coaxing goldenrod - To change her station, lest her modest flower - Be ever doomed to blossom ’neath the shadow of the wall. - And was not He who touched the pansy - With His regal robes and left their color there, - All-wise to leave her modesty as her greatest charm? - Here snowdrops blossom ’neath a fringe of tuft, - And fatty grubs find rest amid the mold. - All love, and Love himself, is here, - For every garden is fashioned by his hand. - Are then the garden’s treasures more of worth - Than ugly toad or mold? Not so, for Love - May tint the zincy blue-gray murk - Of curdling fall to crimson, light-flashed summertide. - Ah, why then question Love, I prithee, friend? - -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. - - I searched among the hills to find His love, - And found but waving trees, and stones - Where lizards flaunt their green and slip to cool - Adown the moss. I searched within the field - To find His treasure-trove, and found but tasseled stalk - And baby grain, encradled in a silky nest. - I searched deep in the rose’s heart to find - His pledge to me, and steeped in honey, it was there. - Lo, while I wait, a vagabond with goss’mer wing - Hath stripped her of her loot and borne it all to me. - I searched along the shore to find His heart, - Ahope the lazy waves would bear it me; - And watched them creep to rest upon the sands, - Who sent them back again, asearch for me. - I sought amid a tempest for His strength, - And found it in its shrieking glee; - And saw man’s paltry blocks come crashing down, - And heard the wailing of the trees who grew - Afeared, and, moaning, caused the flowers to quake - And tremble lest the sun forget them at the dawn; - While bolts shot clouds asunder, and e’en the sea - Was panting with the spending of his might. - I searched within a wayside cot for His white soul, - And found a dimple next the lips of one who slept, - And watched the curtained wonder of her eyes, - Aflutter o’er the iris-colored pools that held His smile: - And touched the warm and shrinking lips, so mute, - And yet so wise. For canst thou doubt whose kiss - Still lingers on their bloom? - Amid a muck of curse, and lie, - And sensuous lust, and damning leers, - I searched for Good and Light, - And found it there, aye, even there; - For broken reeds may house a lark’s pure nest. - I stopped me at a pool to rest, - And toyed along the brink to pluck - The cress who would so guard her lips: - And flung a stone straight to her heart, - And, lo, but silver laughter mocketh me! - And as I stoop to catch the plash, - Pale sunbeams pierce the bower, - And ah, the shade and laughter melt - And leave me, empty, there. - But wait! I search and find, - Reflected in the pool, myself, the searcher. - And, on the silver surface traced, - My answer to it all. - For, heart of mine, who on this journey - Sought with me, I knew thee not, - But searched for prayer and love amid the rocks - Whilst thou but now declare thyself to me. - Ah, could I deem thee strong and fitting - As the tempest to depict His strength; - Or yet as gentle as the smile of baby lips, - Or sweet as honeyed rose or pure as mountain pool? - And yet thou art, and thou art mine— - A gift and answer from my God. - -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. - -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: - - Ah, God, I have drunk unto the dregs, - And flung the cup at Thee! - The dust of crumbled righteousness - Hath dried and soaked unto itself - E’en the drop I spilled to Bacchus, - Whilst Thou, all-patient, - Sendest purple vintage for a later harvest. - -The poems sometimes contain irony, gentle as a summer zephyr or crushing -as a mailed fist. For instance this challenge to the vainglorious: - - Strike ye the sword or dip ye in an inken well; - Smear ye a gaudy color or daub ye the clay? - Aye, beat upon thy busom then and cry, - “’Tis mine, this world-love and vainglory!” - Ah, master-hand, who guided thee? Stay! - Dost know that through the ages, - Yea, through the very ages, - One grain of hero dust, blown from afar, - Hath lodged, and moveth thee? - Wait. Wreathe thyself and wait. - The green shall deepen to an ashen brown - And crumble then and fall into thy sightless eyes, - While thy moldering flesh droppeth awry. - Wait, and catch thy dust. - Mayhap thou canst build it back! - -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 strengthen the high lights. But now and then there comes a verse of -sadness such as this one, which yet is not wholly sad: - - Ah, wake me not! - For should my dreaming work a spell to soothe - My troubled soul, wouldst thou deny me dreams? - Ah, wake me not! - If ’mong the leaves wherein the shadows lurk - I fancy conjured faces of my loved, long lost; - And if the clouds to me are sorrow’s shroud; - And if I trick my sorrow, then, to hide - Beneath a smile; or build of wasted words - A key to wisdom’s door—wouldst thou deny me? - Ah, let me dream! - The day may bring fresh sorrows, - But the night will bring new dreams. - -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: - - Patter, patter, briney drops, - On my kerchief drying: - Spatter, spatter, salty stream, - Down my poor cheeks flying. - Brine enough to ’merse a ham, - Salt enough to build a dam! - Trickle, trickle, all ye can - And wet my dry heart’s aching. - Sop and sop, ’tis better so, - For in dry soil flowers ne’er grow. - -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: - -“Two singers there be; he who should sing like a troubadour and brayeth -like an ass, and he who should bray that singeth.” - - * * * * * - -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. - -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? 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. - -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 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. - -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 his own opinion. Here -are the facts that relate to this phase of the subject: - -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 _effort_ 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. - -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. - - - - - PERSONALITY OF PATIENCE - - “Yea, I be me.” - - -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. - -“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.” - -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 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!” - -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 she has put this admonition into strong and striking phrases. - -“Put ye a value ’pon word? And weigh ye the line to measure, then, the -gift o’ Him ’pon rod afashioned out by man? - -“I tell thee, He hath spoke from out the lowliest, and man did put to -measure, and lo, the lips astop! - -“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! - -“Yea, and He ashoweth wonders, and man findeth him a rule, and lo, the -wonder shrinketh, and but the rule remaineth! - -“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. - -“And yet, in patience, He seeketh new days to speak to thee. And thou -ne’er shalt see His working. Nay! - -“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 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! - -“Ye’d uproot the very seed in quest o’ root! I bid thee nurture o’ its -day astead. - -“I tell thee more: He speaketh not by line or word; Nay, by love and -giving. - -“Do ye also this, in His name.” - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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. - -“A good wife,” she says, “keepeth the floor well sanded and rushes in -plenty to burn. The pewter should reflect the fire’s bright glow; but in -thy day housewifery is a sorry trade.” - -At another time she opened the evening thus: - -“I have brought me some barley corn and a porridge pot. May I then sup?” - -And the same evening she said to Mrs. Pollard: - -“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.” - -A collection of maxims for housekeepers might be made from the flashes -of Patience’s conversation. For example: - -“Too much sweet may spoil the short bread.” - -“Weak yarn is not worth the knitting.” - -“A pound for pound loaf was never known to fail.” - -“A basting but toughens an old goose.” - -These and many others like them were used by her in a figurative sense, -but they reveal an 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. - -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.” - -“She’s roasting us,” cried Mrs. Hutchings. - -“Nay,” said Patience, “boiling the pot.” - -“You don’t understand our slang, Patience,” Mrs. Hutchings explained. -“Roasting means criticising or rebuking.” - -“Yea, basting,” said Patience. - -Mrs. Pollard remarked: “I’ve heard my mother say, ‘He got a basting!’” - -“An up-and-down turn to the hourglass does to a turn,” Patience observed -dryly. - -“I suppose she means,” said Mrs. Hutchings, “that two hours of basting -or roasting would make us understand.” - -“Would she be likely to know about hourglasses?” Mrs. Curran asked. - -Patience answered the question. - -“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. - - * * * * * - -But Patience is not usually as patient with lack of understanding as -this bit of conversation would indicate. - -“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.” - -“Oh, we know we are stupid,” said one. “We admit it.” - -“Saw drip would build thy head and fill thy crannies,” Patience went on, -“yet ye feel smug in wisdom.” - -And again: “I card and weave, and ye look a painful lot should I pass ye -a bobbin to wind.” - -A request to repeat a doubtful line drew forth this exclamation: -“Bother! I fain would sew thy seam, not do thy patching.” - -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.” - -And once she exclaimed, “I sneeze on rust o’ wits!” - - * * * * * - -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: - -“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?” - -And again: “Should thee let thy fire to ember I fain would cast fresh -faggots.” - -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.” - -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: - -“The heart o’ her hath suffered thorn, but bloomed a garland o’er the -wounds.” - -To a lady who is somewhat deaf she paid this charming tribute: - -“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?” - -And to another who, after a time at the board, said she did not want to -weary Patience: - -“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.” - -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.” - -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!” - -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 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.” - -Upon an evening after she had showered such compliments upon the ladies -present she exclaimed: - -“I be a wag atruth, and lo, my posey-wreath be stripped!” - - * * * * * - -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: - -“Thee’lt peg thy shoes, lad, to best their wearing, and eat too freely -of the fowl. Thy belly needeth pegging sore, I wot.” - -“Patience doesn’t mean that for me,” he protested. - -“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.” - -And of this same rotund friend she remarked, when he laughed at -something she had said: - -“He shaketh like a pot o’ goose jell!” - -“I back up, Patience,” he cried. - -“And thee’lt find the cart,” she said. - -Of a visitor, a physician, she had this to say: - -“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 heart a summer’s cloud athin (within), enough to show -athrough the clear o’ blue.” - - * * * * * - -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. - -“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. - -“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. - -“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.” - -And upon another occasion she revealed something of herself in these -words: - - Know ye; in my heart’s mansion - There be apart a place - Wherein I treasure my God’s gifts. - Think ye to peer therein? Nay. - And should thee by a chance - To catch a stolen glimpse, - Thee’dst laugh amerry, for hord (hoard) - Would show but dross to thee: - A friend’s regard, ashrunked and turned - To naught—but one bright memory is there; - A hope—now dead, but showeth gold hid there; - A host o’ nothings—dreams, hopes, fears; - Love throbs afluttered hence - Since first touch o’ baby hands - Caressed my heart’s store ahidden. - -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: - -“My pettieskirt hath a scallop,” she said. “Mayhap that will help thy -history.” - -“Oh,” cried Mrs. Curran, “we are discovered!” - -“Yea,” laughed Patience—she must have laughed, “and tell thou of my -buckled boots and add a cap-string.” - -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: - -_Patience._—“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.” - -_Mrs. H._—“What is she driving at?” - -_Mrs. P._—“The men and the theater, I suppose.” - -_Mrs. H._—“Patience, what are they seeing up there?” - -_Patience._—“Ne’er a timid wench, I vum.” - -_Mrs. C._—“You don’t approve of their going, do you, Patience?” - -_Patience._—“Thee’lt find a hearth more profit. Better they cast the bit -of paper.” - -_Mrs. C._—“What does she mean by paper? Their programmes?” - -_Patience._—“Painted parchment squares.” - -_Mrs. P._—“Oh, she means they’d better stay at home and play cards.” - -_Mrs. H._—“Are they likely to get their morals corrupted at that show?” - -_Patience._—“He who tickleth the ass to start a braying, fain would -carol with his brother.” - -_Mrs. C._—“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?” - -_Patience._—“My pettieskirt ye may borrow for the brazens.” - -_Mrs. P._—“Now, what is a pettieskirt? Is it really a skirt or is it -that ruff they used to wear around the neck?” - -_Patience._—“Nay, my bib covereth the neckband.” - -_Mrs. H._—“Then, where do you wear your pettieskirt?” - -_Patience._—“’Neath my kirtle.” - -_Mrs. C._—“Is that the same as girdle? Let’s look it up.” - -_Patience._—“Art fashioning thy new frock?” - -_Mrs. H._—“I predict that Patience will found a new style—Puritan.” - -_Patience._—“’Twere a virtue, egad!” - -_Mrs. H._—“You evidently don’t think much of our present style. In your -day women dressed more modestly, didn’t they?” - -_Patience._—“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.” - -_Mrs. C._—“What were the young girls of your day like, Patience?” - -_Patience._—“A silly lot, as these of thine. Wait!” - -There was no movement of the board for about three minutes, and then: - -“’Tis a sorry lot, not harming but boresome!” - -_Mrs. H._—“Oh, Patience, have you been to the theater?” - -_Patience._—“A peep in good cause could surely ne’er harm the godly.” - -_Mrs. C._—“How do you think we ought to look after those men?” - -_Patience._—“Thine ale is drunk at the hearth. Surely he who stops to -sip may bless the firelog belonging to thee.” - -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.” - -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: - -“The cockshut finds ye still peering to find the other land.” - -“What is cock’s hut?” asked Mrs. H. - -“Nay,” said Patience, “Cock-shut. Thee needeth light, but cockshut -bringeth dark.” - -“Cockshut must mean shutting up the cock at night,” suggested a visitor. - -“Aye, and geese, too, then could be put to quiet,” Patience exclaimed. -“Wouldst thou wish for cockshut?” - -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. - -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 -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. - -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 -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. - - * * * * * - -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 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.” - -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 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: - -“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.” - -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. - - - - - THE POETRY - - Am I a broken lyre, - Who, at the Master’s touch, - Respondeth with a tinkle and a whir? - Or am I strung in full - And at His touch give forth the full chord? - —PATIENCE WORTH. - - -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 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. - -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 as sixteen syllables, others drop to eight or -even six. - -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 board, without the alteration of a syllable, and -without changing the position or even the spelling of a single one. - -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.” - -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. 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. - -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: - -“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!” - -There was an impatient dash across the board, and then she exclaimed: - -“Bah, ’tis bally reasoning! I plucked a gosling for a goose, and found -down enough to pad the parson’s saddle skirts!” - -At another time she began: - -“Rain, art thou the tears wept a thousand years agone, and soaked into -the granite walls of dumb and feelingless races? Now——” - -There was a long pause and then came this lullaby: - - Oh, baby, soft upon my breast press thou, - And let my fluttering throat spell song to thee, - A song that floweth so, my sleeping dear: - Oh, buttercups of eve, - Oh, willynilly, - My song shall flutter on, - Oh, willynilly. - I climb a web to reach a star, - And stub my toe against a moonbeam - Stretched to bar my way, - Oh, willynilly. - A love-puff vine shall shelter us, - Oh, baby mine; - And then across the sky we’ll float - And puff the stars away. - Oh, willynilly, on we’ll go, - Willynilly floating. - -“Thee art o’erfed on pudding,” she added to Mrs. Curran. “This sauce is -but a butter-whip.” - -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. - -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. - - Strumm, strumm! - Ah, wee one, - Croon unto the tendrill tipped with sungilt, - Nodding thee from o’er the doorsill there. - - Strumm, strumm! - My wheel shall sing to thee. - I pull the flax as golden as thy curl, - And sing me of the blossoms blue, - Their promise, like thine eyes to me. - - Strumm, strumm! - ’Tis such a merry tale I spinn. - Ah, wee one, croon unto the honey bee - Who diggeth at the rose’s heart. - - Strumm, strumm! - My wheel shall sing to thee, - Heart-blossom mine. The sunny morn - Doth hum with lovelilt, dear. - I fain would leave my spinning - To the spider climbing there, - And bruise thee, blossom, to my breast. - - Strumm, strumm! - What fancies I do weave! - Thy dimpled hand doth flutter, dear, - Like a petal cast adrift - Upon the breeze. - - Strumm, strumm! - ’Tis faulty spinning, dear. - A cradle built of thornwood, - A nest for thee, my bird. - I hear thy crooning, wee one, - And ah, this fluttering heart. - - Strumm, strumm! - How ruthlessly I spinn! - My wheel doth wirr an empty song, my dear, - For tendrill nodding yonder - Doth nod in vain, my sweet; - And honey bee would tarry not - For thee; and thornwood cradle swayeth - Only to the loving of the wind! - - Strumm, strumm! - My wheel still sings to thee, - Thou birdling of my fancy’s realm! - - Strumm, strumm! - An empty dream, my dear! - The sun doth shine, my bird; - Or should he fail, he shineth here - Within my heart for thee! - - Strumm, strumm! - My wheel still sings to thee. - -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. - -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: - - Athin the even’s hour, - When shadow purpleth the garden wall, - Then sit thee there adream, - And cunger thee from out the pack o’ me. - Yea, speak thou, and tell to me - What ’tis thou hearest here. - - A rustling? Yea, aright! - A murmuring? Yea, aright! - Ah, then, thou sayest, ’tis the leaves - That love one ’pon the other. - Yea, and the murmuring, thou sayest, - Is but the streamlet’s hum. - - Nay, nay! For wait thee. - Ayonder o’er the wall doth rise - The white faced Sister o’ the Sky. - And lo, she beareth thee a fairies’ wand, - And showeth thee the ghosts o’ dreams. - - Look thou! Ah, look! A one - Doth step adown the path! The rustle? - ‘Tis the silken whisper o’ her robe. - The hum? The love-note o’ her maiden dream. - See thee, ah, see! She bendeth there, - And branch o’ bloom doth nod and dance. - Hark, the note! A robin’s cheer? - - Ah, Brother, nay. - ’Tis the whistle o’ her lover’s pipe. - See, see, the path e’en now - Doth show him, tall and dark, aside the gate. - - What! What! Thou sayest - ’Tis but the rustle o’ the leaves, - And brooklet’s humming o’er its stony path! - Then hush! Yea, hush thee! - Hush and leave me here! - The fairy wand hath broke, and leaves - Stand still, and note hath ceased, - And maiden vanished with thy word. - - Thou, thou hast broke the spell, - And dream hath heard thy word and fled. - Yea, sunk, sunk upon the path, - They o’ my dreams—slain, slain, - And dead with but thy word. - Ah, leave me here and go, - For Earth doth hold not - E’en my dreaming’s wraith. - -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 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: - - Whiff, sayeth the wind, - And whiffing on its way, doth blow a merry tale. - Where, in the fields all furrowed and rough with corn, - Late harvested, close-nestled to a fibrous root, - And warmed by the sun that hid from night there-neath, - A wee, small, furry nest of root mice lay. - Whiff, sayeth the wind. - - Whiff, sayeth the wind. - I found this morrow, on a slender stem, - A glory of the morn, who sheltered in her wine-red throat - A tiny spinning worm that wove the livelong day,— - Long after the glory had put her flag to mast— - And spun the thread I followed to the dell, - Where, in a gnarled old oak, I found a grub, - Who waited for the spinner’s strand - To draw him to the light. - Whiff, sayeth the wind. - - Whiff, sayeth the wind! - I blew a beggar’s rags, and loving - Was the flapping of the cloth. And singing on - I went to blow a king’s mantle ’bout his limbs, - And cut me on the crusted gilt. - And tainted did I stain the rose until she turned - A snuffy brown and rested her poor head - Upon the rail along the path. - Whiff, sayeth the wind. - - Whiff, sayeth the wind. - I blow me ’long the coast, - And steal from out the waves their roar; - And yet from out the riffles do I steal - The rustle of the leaves, who borrow of the riffle’s song - From me at summer-tide. And then - I pipe unto the sands, who dance and creep - Before me in the path. I blow the dead - And lifeless earth to dancing, tingling life, - And slap thee to awake at morn. - Whiff, sayeth the wind. - -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: - - Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going? - Art dawdling time away adown the primrose path - And wishing golden dust to fancied value? - Ah, catch the milch-dewed air, breathe deep - The clover-scented breath across the field, - And feed upon sweet-rooted grasses - Thou hast idly plucked. - Come, Brother, then let’s on together. - - Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going? - Is here thy path adown the hard-flagged pave, - Where, bowed, the workers blindly shuffle on; - And dumbly stand in gullies bound, - The worn, bedogged, silent-suffering beast, - Far driven past his due? - And thou, beloved, hast thy burden worn thee weary? - Come, Brother, then let’s on together. - - Hi-ho, alack-a-day, whither going? - Hast thou begun the tottering of age, - And doth the day seem over-long to thee? - Art fretting for release, and dost thou lack - The power to weave anew life’s tangled skein? - Come, Brother, then let’s on together. - -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 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. - - * * * * * - -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: - - Snow tweaketh ’neath thy feet, - And like a wandering painter stalketh Frost, - Daubing leaf and lichen. Where flowed a cataract - And mist-fogged stream, lies silvered sheen, - Stark, dead and motionless. I hearken - But to hear the she-e-e-e of warning wind, - Fearful lest I waken Nature’s sleeping. - Await ye! Like a falcon loosed - Cometh the awakening. Then returneth Spring - To nestle in the curving breast of yonder hill, - And sets to rest like the falcon seeketh - His lady’s outstretched arm. - -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: - - Dead, all dead! - The earth, the fields, lie stretched in sleep - Like weary toilers overdone. - The valleys gape like toothless age, - Besnaggled by dead trees. - The hills, like boney jaws whose flesh hath dropped, - Stand grinning at the deathy day. - The lily, too, hath cast her shroud - And clothed her as a brown-robed nun. - The moon doth, at the even’s creep, - Reach forth her whitened hands and sooth - The wrinkled brow of earth to sleep. - Ah, whither flown the fleecy summer clouds, - To bank, and fall to earth in billowed light, - And paint the winter’s brown to spangled white? - Where, too, have flown the happy songs, - Long died away with sighing - On the shore-wave’s crest? - Will they take Echo as their Guide, - And bound from hill to hill at this, - The sleepy time of earth, - And waken forest song ’mid naked waste? - Ah, slumber, slumber, slumber on. - ’Tis with a loving hand He scattereth the snow, - To nestle young spring’s offering, - That dying Earth shall live anew. - -How different this from Thomson’s pessimistic, - - Dread winter spreads his latest glooms - And reigns tremendous o’er the conquered year. - -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 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.” - -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.” - - The streamlet under fernbanked brink - Doth laugh to feel the tickle of the waving mass; - And silver-rippled echo soundeth - Under over-hanging cliff. - The robin heareth it at morn - And steals its chatter for his song. - And oft at quiet-sleeping - Of the Spring’s bright day, - I wander me to dream along the brooklet’s bank, - And hark me to a song of her dead voice, - That lieth where the snowflakes vanish - On the molten silver of the brooklet’s breast; - And watch the stream, - Who, over-fearful lest she lose the right - To ripple to the chord of Spring’s full harmony, - Doth harden at her heart - And catch the song a prisoner to herself; - To loosen only at the wooing kiss - Of youthful Winter’s sun, - And fill the barren waste with phantom spring. - -Or, passing on to autumn, consider this apostrophe to a fallen leaf: - - Ah, paled and faded leaf of spring agone, - Whither goest thou? Art speeding - To another land upon the brooklet’s breast? - Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge - Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave, - Die of too much love? - Thou’lt find a resting place amid the moss, - And, ah, who knows! The royal gem - May be thine own love’s offering. - Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page, - And mould among thy sisters, ere the sun - May peep within the pack? - Or will the robin nest with thee - At Spring’s awakening? The romping brook - Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on. - And shouldst thou be impaled - Upon a thorny branch, what then? - Try not a flight. Thy sisters call thee. - Could crocus spring from frost, - And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die? - Nay, speed not, for God hath not - A mast for thee provided. - -Autumn, too, is the theme of this: - - She-e-e! She-e-e! She-e-e-e! - The soughing wind doth breathe. - The white-crest cloud hath drabbed - At season’s late. The trees drip leaf-waste - Unto the o’erloved blades aneath, - Who burned o’ love, to die. - - ’Tis the parting o’ the season. - Yea, and earth doth weep. The mellow moon - Stands high o’er golded grain. The cot-smoke - Curleth like to a loving arm - That reacheth up unto the sky. - The grain ears ope, to grin unto the day. - The stream hath laden with a pack o’ leaves - To bear unto the dell, where bloom - Doth hide in waiting for her pack. - The stars do glitter cold, and dance to warm them - There upon the sky’s blue carpet o’er the earth. - - ’Tis season’s parting. - Yea, and earth doth weep. The Winter cometh, - And he bears her jewels for the decking - Of his bride. A glittered crown - Shall fall ’pon earth, and sparkled drop - Shall stand like gem that flasheth - ’Pon a nobled brow. Yea, the tears - Of earth shall freeze and drop - As pearls, the necklace o’ the earth. - ’Tis season’s parting. Yea, - And earth doth weep. - ’Tis Fall. - -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: - - The Morn awoke from off her couch of fleece, - And cast her youth-dampt breath to sweet the Earth. - The birds sent carol up to climb the vasts. - The sleep-stopped Earth awaked in murmuring. - The dark-winged Night flew past the Day - Who trod his gleaming upward way. - The fields folk musicked at the sun’s warm ray. - Web-strewn, the sod, hung o’er o’ rainbow gleam. - The brook, untiring, ever singeth on. - - The Day hath broke, and busy Earth - Hath set upon the path o’ hours. - Mute Night hath spread her darksome wing - And loosed the brood of dreams, - And Day hath set the downy mites to flight. - Fling forth thy dreaming hours! Awake from dark! - And hark! And hark! The Earth doth ring in song! - ’Tis Day! ’Tis Day! ’Tis Day! - -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: - - Go to the builder of all dreams - And beg thy timbers to cast thee one. - Ah, Builder, let me wander in this land - Of softened shapes to choose. My hand doth reach - To catch the mantle cast by lilies whom the sun - Hath loved too well. And at this morrow - Saw I not a purple wing of night - To fold itself and bask in morning light? - I watched her steal straight to the sun’s - Bedazzled heart. I claim her purpled gold. - And watched I not, at twi-hours creep, - A heron’s blue wing skim across the pond, - Where gulf clouds fleeted in a fleecy herd, - Reflected fair? I claim the blue and let - My heart to gambol with the sky-herd there. - At midday did I not then find - A rod of gold, and sun’s flowers, - Bounded in by wheat’s betasseled stalks? - I claim the gold as mine, to cast my dream. - And then at stormtide did I catch the sun, - Becrimsoned in his anger; and from his height - Did he not bathe the treetops in his gore? - The red is mine. I weave my dream and find - The rainbow, and the rainbow’s end—a nothingness. - -Almost equally weird is this “Birth of a Song”: - - I builded me a harp, - And set asearch for strings. - Ah, and Folly set me ’pon a track - That set the music at a wail; - For I did string the harp - With silvered moon-threads; - Aye, and dead the notes did sound. - And I did string it then - With golden sun’s-threads, - And Passion killed the song. - Then did I to string it o’er— - And ’twer a jeweled string— - A chain o’ stars, and lo, - They laughed, and sorry wert the song. - And I did strip the harp and cast - The stars to merry o’er the Night; - And string anew, and set athrob a string - Abuilded of a lover’s note, and lo, - The song did sick and die, - And crumbled to a sweeted dust, - And blew unto the day. - - Anew did I to string, - Astring with wail o’ babe, - And Earth loved not the song. - I felled asorrowed at the task, - And still the Harp wert mute. - So did I to pluck out my heart, - And lo, it throbbed and sung, - And at the hurt o’ loosing o’ the heart - A song wert born. - -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: - - I’d greet thee, loves of yester’s day. - I’d call thee out from There. - I’d sup the joys of yonder realm. - I’d list unto the songs of them - Who days of me know not. - I’d call unto this hour - The lost of joys and woes. - I’d seek me out the sorries - That traced the seaming of thy cheek, - O thou of yester’s day! - - I’d read the hearts astopped, - That Earth might know the price - They paid as toll. - I’d love their loves, I’d hate their hates, - I’d sup the cups of them; - Yea, I’d bathe me in the sweetness - Shed by youth of yester’s day. - Yea, of these I’d weave the Earth a cloak— - But ah, He wove afirst! - They cling like petal mold, and sweet the Earth. - Yea, the Earth lies wrapped - Within the holy of its ghost. - -“’Tis but a drip o’ loving,” she said when she had finished this. - -Nearly every English poet has a tribute to the Skylark, but I doubt if -there are many more exquisite than this: - - I tuned my song to love and hate and pain - And scorn, and wrung from passion’s heat the flame, - And found the song a wailing waste of voice. - My song but reached the earth and echoed o’er its plains. - I sought for one who sang a wordless lay, - And up from ’mong the rushes soared a lark. - Hark to his song! - From sunlight came his gladdening note. - And ah, his trill—the raindrops’ patter! - - And think ye that the thief would steal - The rustle of the leaves, or yet - The chilling chatter of the brooklet’s song? - Not claiming as his own the carol of my heart, - Or listening to my plaint, he sings amid the clouds; - And through the downward cadence I but hear - The murmurings of the day. - -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: - - Sounds of vernal showers - On the twinkling grass; - Rain-awakened flowers; - All that ever was - Joyous and clear and fresh - Thy music doth surpass. - -And there is something of the same thought in the lines of Edmund Burke: - - Teach me, O lark! with thee to greatly rise, - T’ exalt my soul and lift it to the skies; - To make each worldly joy as mean appear, - Unworthy care when heavenly joys are near. - -But Patience nowhere belittles earthly joys that are not evil in -themselves; nor does she teach that all earthly passions are inherently -wrong: for earthly love is the theme of many of her verses. - -Her expressions of scorn are sometimes powerful in their vehemence. -This, on “War,” for example: - - Ah, thinkest thou to trick? - I fain would peep beneath the visor. - A god of war, indeed! Thou liest! - A masquerading fiend, - The harlot of the universe— - War, whose lips, becrimsoned in her lover’s blood, - Smile only to his death-damped eyes! - I challenge thee to throw thy coat of mail! - Ah, God! Look thou beneath! - Behold, those arms outstretched! - That raiment over-spangled with a leaden rain! - O, Lover, trust her not! - She biddeth thee in siren song, - And clotheth in a silken rag her treachery, - To mock thee and to wreak - Her vengeance at thy hearth. - Cast up the visor’s skirt! - Thou’lt see the snakey strands. - A god of war, indeed! I brand ye as a lie! - -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: - - Ah, greet the day, which, like a golden butterfly, - Hovereth ’twixt the night and morn; - And welcome her fullness—the hours - ’Mid shadow and those the rose shall grace. - Hast thou among her hours thy heart’s - Desire and dearest? Name thou then of all - His beauteous gifts thy greatest treasure. - The morning, cool and damp, dark-shadowed - By the frowning sun—is this thy chosen? - The midday, flaming as a sword, - Deep-stained by noon’s becrimsoned light— - Is this thy chosen? Or misty startide, - Woven like a spinner’s web and jeweled - By the climbing moon—is this thy chosen? - Doth forest shade, or shimmering stream, - Or wild bird song, or cooing of the nesting dove, - Bespeak thy chosen? He who sendeth light - Sendeth all to thee, pledges of a bonded love. - And ye who know Him not, look ye! - From all His gifts He pilfered that which made it His - To add His fullest offering of love. - From out the morning, at the earliest tide, - He plucked two lingering stars, who tarried - Lest the dark should sorrow. And when the day was born, - The glow of sun-flush, veiled by gossamer cloud - And tinted soft by lingering night; - And rose petals, scattered by a loving breeze; - The lily’s satin cheek, and dove cooes, - And wild bird song, and Death himself - Is called to offer of himself; - And soft as willow buds may be, - He claimeth but the down to fashion this, thy gift, - The essence of His love, thine own first-born. - -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? - -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: - - ’Tis mine, this gift, ah, mine alone, - To paint the leaden sky to lilac-rose, - Or coax the sullen sun to flash, - Or carve from granite gray a flaming knight, - Or weave the twilight hours with garlands gay, - Or wake the morning with my soul’s glad song, - Or at my bitterest drink a sweetness cast, - Or gather from my loneliness the flower— - A dream amid a mist of tears. - Ah, treasure mine, this do I pledge to thee, - That none may peer within thy land; and only - When the moon shines white shall I disclose thee; - Lest, straying, thou should’st fade; and in the blackness - Of the midnight shall I fondle thee, - Afraid to show thee to the day. - When I shall give to Him, the giver, - All my treasure’s stores, and darkness creeps upon me, - Then will I for this return a thank, - And show thee to the world. - Blind are they to thee, but ah, the darkness - Is illumined; and lo! thy name is burned - Like flaming torch to light me on my way. - Then from thy wrapping of love I pluck - My dearest gift, the memory of my dearest love. - Ah, memory, thou painter, - Who from cloud canst fashion her dear form, - Or from a stone canst turn her smile, - Or fill my loneliness with her dear voice, - Or weave a loving garland for her hair— - Thou art my gift of God, to be my comrade here. - -Next to such love as this comes friendship, and she has put an estimate -of the value of a friend in these words: - - Of Earth there be this store of joys and woes. - Yea, and they do make the days o’ me. - I sit me here adream that did I hold - From out the whole, but one, my dearest gift, - What then would it to be? Doth days and nights - Of bright and dark make this my store? - Nay. Do happy hours and woes-tide, then, - Beset this day of me and make the thing I’d keep? - Nay. Doth metal store and jewelled string - Then be aworth to me? Nay. I set me here, - And dreaming, fall to reasoning for this, - That I would keep, if but one gift wert mine - Must hold the store o’ all. Yea, must hold - The dark for light, yea, and hold the light for dark, - Aye, and hold the sweet for sours, aye, and hold - The love for Hate. Yea, then, where may I to turn? - - And lo, as I adreaming sat - A voice spaked out to me: What ho! What ho! - And lo, the voice of one, a friend! - - This, then, shall be my treasure, - And the Earth part I shall hold - From out all gifts of Him. - -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. - - Lo, ’pon a day there bloomed a bud, - And swayed it at adance ’pon sweeted airs. - And gardens oped their greenéd breast - To shew to Earth o’ such an one. - And soft the morn did woo its bloom; - And nights wept ’pon its cheek, - And mosses crept them ’bout the stem, - That sun not scoarch where it had sprung. - And lo, the garden sprite, a maid, - Who came aseek at every day, - And kissed the bud, and cast o’ drops - To cool the warm sun’s rays. - And bud did hang it swaying there, - And love lept from the maiden’s breast. - - And days wore on; and nights did wrap - The bud to wait the morn; - And maid aseeked the spot. - When, lo, there came a Stranger - To the garden’s wall, - Who knocked Him there - And bid the maiden come. - - And up unto her heart she pressed her hand, - And reached it forth to stay the bud’s soft sway, - And lo, the sun hung dark, - And Stranger knocked Him there. - And ’twere the maid did step most regal to the place. - And harked, and lo, His voice aspoke. - And she looked upon His face, - And lo, ’twere sorry sore, and sad! - And soft there came His word - Of pleading unto her: - “O’ thy garden’s store do offer unto me.” - And lo, the maid did turn and seek her out the bud, - And pluck it that she bear it unto Him. - And at the garden’s ope He stood and waited her. - And forth her hand she held, therein the bud, - And lo, He took therefrom the bloom - And left the garden bare, - And maid did stand astripped - Of heart’s sun ’mid her garden’s bloom. - When lo, athin the wound there sunk - A warmpth that filled it up with love. - Yea, ’twere the smile o’ Him, the price. - -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: - - I hied me to the glen and dell, - And o’er the heights, afar and near, - To find the Yule sprite’s haunt. - I dreamt me it did bide - Where mistletoe doth bead; - And found an oak whose boughs - Hung clustered with its borrowed loveliness. - Ah, could such a one as she - Abide her in this chill? - For bleakness wraps the oak about - And crackles o’er her dancing branch. - Nay, her very warmth - Would surely thaw away the icy shroud, - And mistletoe would die - Adreaming it was spring. - I hied me to the holly tree - And made me sure to find her there. - But nay, - The thorny spines would prick her tenderness. - Ah, where then doth she bide? - - I asked the frost who stood - Upon the fringéd grasses ’neath the oak. - “I know her not, but I - Am ever bidden to her feast. - Ask thou the sparrow of the field. - He searcheth everywhere; perchance - He knoweth where she bides.” - - “Nay, I know her not, - But at her birthday’s tide - I find full many a crumb - Cast wide upon the snow.” - - I found a chubby babe, - Who toddled o’er the ice, and whispered, - Did she know the Yule sprite’s haunt? - And she but turneth solemn eyes to me - And wags her golden head. - - I flitted me from house to shack, - And ever missed the rogue; - But surely she had left her sign - To bid me on to search. - And I did weary of my task - And put my hopes to rest, - And slept me on the eve afore her birth, - Full sure to search anew at morn. - - And then the morning broke; - And e’er mine eyes did ope, - I fancied me a scarlet sprite, - With wings of green and scepter of a mistletoe, - Did bid me wake, and whispered me - To look me to my heart. - Soft-nestled, warm, I found her resting there. - Guard me lest I tell; - But, heart o’erfull of loving, - Thee’lt surely spill good cheer! - -The following week, without request, she gave this New Year’s poem, -remarkable for the novelty of its treatment of a much worn theme: - - The year hath sickened; - And dawning day doth show his withering; - And Death hath crept him closer on each hour. - The crying hemlock shaketh in its grief. - The smiling spring hath hollowed it to age, - And golden grain-stalks fallen - O’er the naked breast of earth. - The year’s own golden locks - Have fallen, too, or whitened, - Where they still do hold. - - And do I sorrow me? - Nay, I do speed him on, - For precious pack he beareth - To the land of passing dreams. - - I’ve bundled pain and wishing - ’Round with deeds undone, - And packed the loving o’ my heart - With softness of thine own; - And plied his pack anew - With loss and gain, to add - The cup of bitter tears I shed - O’er nothings as I passed. - - Old year and older years— - My friends, my comrades on the road below— - I fain would greet ye now, - And bid ye Godspeed on your ways. - - I watch ye pass, and read - The aged visages of each. - I love ye well, and count ye o’er - In fearing lest I lose e’en one of you. - And here the brother of you, every one, - Lies smitten! - - But as dear I’ll love him - When the winter’s moon doth sink; - And like the watery eye of age - Doth close at ending of his day. - And I shall flit me through his dreams - And cheer him with my loving; - And last within the pack shall put - A Hope and speed him thence. - - And bow me to the New. - A friend mayhap, but still untried. - And true, ye say? - But ne’er hath proven so! - - Old year, I love thee well, - And bid thee farewell with a sigh. - -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 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 or modern, the Bible -excepted, can this simplicity be found? - -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. - - - - - THE PROSE - - “Word meeteth word, and at touch o’ me, doth - spell to thee.”—PATIENCE WORTH. - - -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 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. - -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.” - -At the next sitting she began the “wordy tale.” Up to that time she had -offered nothing in prose form but short didactic pieces, 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. - -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 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. - - - THE FOOL AND THE LADY - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -(_Fool_) “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. - -“Here, eat thy crust. ’Tis funny-bread, the earnings of a fool. - -“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 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! - -“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! - -“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. - -“We two together shall flatten ’neath the tree in yonder field and ride -the clouds, Beppo, I promise ye, at after hour of noon. - -“See! Tonio has slid the shutter’s bolt! I’ll spin a song and bart him -for a sup.” - - * * * * * - -(_Tonio_) “So, baggage, thou hast slept aneath the smell thou lovest -best!” - -(_Fool_) “Oh, morrow, Tonio. The smell is weak as yester’s unsealed -wine. My tank 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!” - -(_Tonio_) “Thou scrapple! Come within. ’Tis he who loveth not the fool -who doth hate his God.” - -(_Fool_) “I’m loth to leave my chosen company. Come, Beppo, his words -are hard, but we do know his heart. - -“A health to thee, Antonio. Put in thy wine one taste of thy heart’s -brew and I need not wish ye well. - -“To her, Beppo. Come, dip and take a lick. - -“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 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! - -“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!” - -(_Antonio_) “Aday, thou fool, and would I had the wisdom of thy ape.” - - * * * * * - - (_On the Road to the Tournament._) - -(_Lisa_) “Aday, fool!” - -(_Fool_) “Ah, lady fair, hath lost the silver of thy laugh, and dost -thee wish me then to fetch it thee?” - -(_Lisa_) “Yea, jester. Thou speaketh wisely; for may I ripple laughter -from a sorry heart? Now tease me, then.” - -(_Fool_) “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?” - -(_Lisa_) “Oh, thou art in truth a fool. I’d bend the crook and strike -the tear away.” - -(_Fool_) “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!” - -(_Lisa_) “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?” - -(_Fool_) “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.” - -(_Lisa_) “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.” - -(_Fool_) “Hear, Beppo, how she prates! Would I were a posey wreath and -Beppo here 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! - -“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! - - The world may sorrow - But the fool must laugh. - ’Tis blessed grain - That hath no chaff. - To love an ape - Is but to ape at love. - I sought a hand, - And found—a glove! - -“Beppo, laugh, and prove thyself the fool’s! I fain would feel the yoke, -lest I step too high. - -“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! - -“Ah, me, ’tis such a home for fools, the earth. And they that are not -fools are apes. - -“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. - -“She doth love him, then; and even now the horn doth sound anew—and she -the prize! - -“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. - -“I fret me here, but dare I see the play? Yea, ’tis a poor fool that -loveth not his jest. - -“I go, Beppo; I know not why, save I do love her so. - -“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? - -“The way seems over long. - -“They parry at the ring! I see her veil to float like cloud upon the -breeze. - -“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! - -“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. - -“The red knight now doth cast! O Heaven turn his lance! - -“’Tis put! - -“And now the blue and gold! Wait, brother ape! Hold, in the name of God! -Straight! ’Tis tie! Can I but stand? - -“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. - -(”Beppo, ’tis true she seeth me!) - -“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—— - -“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. - -“The red knight! God weight his charger’s hoof! (My God, Beppo, she did -kiss my hand!) - -“He’s off! Beppo, cling!” - -(_Lisa_) “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!” - -(_Lisa, to her knight_) “So, thou, beloved, didst win me right! Where go -they with the litter?” - -(_Knight_) “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.” - - (_Enter Fool upon litter._) - -(_Fool_) “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.” - -(_Lisa_) “His eye grows misty. Fool, I know thee as a knave and love -thee as a man.” - -(_Fool_) “’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.” - - * * * * * - -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. - - - THE STRANGER - -’Twas at white season o’ the year, the shrouding o’ spring and -summerstide. - -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.[2] - -Footnote 2: - - 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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -“Timon, man, look ye to the wee lambs well, for winter promiseth a -searching night.” - -Thus spake Leta, who stands, her babe astride her hip. - -“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! - -“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. - -“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. - -“Timon, man, tell me now the doings o’ the day. I do ettle[3] for a -spicey tale.” - -Footnote 3: - - Ettle. In this case, to have a strong desire. - -(_Timon_) “Well, be it so then, minx. I did 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[4] 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?” - -Footnote 4: - - Aslaunch. Aslant or obliquely. As we would now say, “Out of the corner - of the eye.” - -(_Leta_) “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. - -“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. - -“They tell, but breathlessly, that she doth sadly say the Stranger -bideth here.” - -(_Timon_) “I’ll pit my patch ’gainst purse 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. - -“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! - -“Leta, little one, thine eyes do blink like stars beshadowed in a cloudy -veil. Come, bend thy knee and slip away to dream!” - -(_Little Leta prays_) “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.” - -(_Timon_) “He heareth thee, my Leta. Watch ye the star on high. See ye, -it winketh knowingly. God rest ye, blest.” - - (_At the Castle._) - -(_Lady Marye_) “And I the Lady Marye, o’ the lord’s estate! Jana, fetch -me a goblet that I drink.” - -(_Jana_) “Aye, lady. A wine, perchance?” - -(_Lady Marye_) “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? - -“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. - -“Jana, peer ye to the valley there. Doth see the Stranger? He knocketh -at the sill o’ yonder cot. - -“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!” - -(_Jana_) “Nay, lady, ’tis but a barish limb that reacheth o’er the door. -The cotter heedeth not, ye see.” - -(_Lady Marye_) “I do see him now to enter, and never did he turn! Jana, -look ye now! Doth still befriend a doubt?” - -(_Jana_) “Come, lady, look! Sirrah John hath sent ye this, a posey, -wrought o’ gold and scented with sweet oils.” - -(_Lady Marye_) “Ah, Jana, ’tis a hateful sight to me—a posey I may keep! -Why, the losing o’ the blossom doth but make it dear! - -“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 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. - -“Come to the turret, then. I do find me whetted for a look within. - -“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. - -“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.” - -(_Jana_) “Nay, lady, ’tis the shepherd’s dog who skulketh now ahind the -shelter wall.” - -(_Lady Marye_) “Ah, give me, spite o’ this, the power to sing like Thine -own bird who swayeth happily upon the forest bough and pours abroad his -song where no man heareth him. - -“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.” - -(_Jana_) “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.” - -(_Lady Marye_) “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.’ - -“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. - -“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. - -“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.” - - (_Morning at the Castle Gate._) - -(_Tito_) “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.” - -(_Petro_) “Amorrow, Tito. Thee’lt wear thee white as our own Lady long -afore ye e’en canst dip thy finger in the drip.” - -(_Tito_) “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. - -“They do tell me down below that trouble bideth Timon. His Tina layeth -dull and Leta doth little but mumble prayer.” - -(_Petro_) “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 ahind the brushbox. Go thee and lick it there!” - -(_To Sir John_) “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.” - -(_Sir John_) “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! - -“Ho, Timon, how goes it with the brat? The world’s o’erfull o’ cattle -now!” - -(_Timon_) “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.” - - (_In Lady Marye’s Chamber._) - -(_Lady Marye_) “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! - -“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. - -“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. - -“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. - -“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? - -“Her robe! Ah, Fancy, ’tis thy right that thou art ever doubted. For -thou art a conjurer, a trickster, verily. What chamming[5] joy didst -thee then offer her? - -Footnote 5: - - Obsolete form of “champing.” Used here figuratively. - -“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. - -“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. - -“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. Hear thee -the cheering that he comes! Her loved, my Jana, and her heart doth beat -through me! - -“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!” - - (_Christmas Eve._) - -(_Jana_) “My lady, who doth come a knocking at the door? ’Tis Petro, -come to bid ye to the feast.” - -(_Petro_) “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.” - -(_Lady Marye_) “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 strings, and let him patter forth a lively tune, for -Lady Marye comes. - -“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?” - -(_Jana_) “Nay, lady, all is dark. ’Tis but the whitish snow and shadow -pitted by the tapers’ light.” - -(_Lady Marye_) “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.” - - (_In the Hall._) - -(_Sir John_) “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!” - -(_Lady Marye_) “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! - -“Look ye, good people at the feast; the boar is ready to slip its bones. - -(_Aside_) “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? - -“To thee, my sire, to thee!” - - * * * * * - -And gusted wind did flick the tapers out and they did hear her murmuring -“The Stranger! He doth bid me come!” - -And to this day they tell that Lady Marye cast the wine into a suckler’s -mouth and never did she drink! - -“By all the saints! Do thee go and search!” - -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. - - (_In Timon’s Cot._) - -(_Leta_) “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. - -“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.” - -(_Timon_) “Come, Leta, wake! The sun hath tipped the crown o’ yonder -hill and spread a blush adown her snow-white side.” - -(_Leta_) “Yea, sire. And Tina, how be she?” - -(_Timon_) “A fairy, sleeping, Tad.” - -(_Leta_) “Ah, sire, but I did dream the dark 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!” (_Exit._) - - * * * * * - -(_Timon_) “My Leta, come! Thy Christ-gift bideth o’er our Tina’s lips -and she doth coo!” - -(_Leta_) “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!” - -(_Leta_) “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.” - -(_Timon_) “Who leaveth by the door; a stranger?” - -(_Leta_) “Nay, He bideth here.” - -(_Timon_) “The Lady Marye, on my soul! Leta, drop ye here thy tears, for -madness bideth loosed upon the earth! And shouldst——” - -(_Leta_) “Nay, sire! Who cometh there?” - - * * * * * - -And searchers there did find the Lady Marye, dead, amid the lambs and -snow—a flowering o’ the rose upon a bush o’ thorn. - -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. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -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 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: - - - Wet earth, fresh trod. - - 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. - - 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. - - Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat! - Rat-a-tat! Sh-h-h-h! - - From out the thick where hides the logged and mud-smeared shack. - - Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat! - Sh-h-h-h! - And hark ye, to the tanner’s song! - - Up, up, up! and down, down, down! - A hammer to smite - And a hand to pound! - A maid to court, - And a swain to woo, - A heiffer felled - And I build a shoe! - A souse anew in yonder vat, - And I’ll buy my lady - A feathered hat! - -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: - - 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. - -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 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. - - _Dougal._—“Anne, goody girl, leave me but suck a bone. My sides have - withered and fallen in, in truth.” - - _Anne._—“Get ye, Dougal! Thy footprints do show them in grease like - to the Queen’s seal upon my floor!” - - _Dougal._—“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 oils his - beauteous locks, and sung a lay to Ermaline, and kissed a scullery - wench afore he slept.” - - _Anne._—“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.” - - _Dougal._—“Yea, but eye may speak, for hers do flash like lightning, - and though small, her foot doth fall most weighty to command. - - “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. - - “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.” - - _Anne._—“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?” - - _Dougal._—“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.” - - _Anne._—“Aye, but I do wag! For surely thee doth see how Ermaline - doth court his song.” - - _Dougal._—“Nay, Anne, ’tis but to fill an empty day.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -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 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: - - “Dewdamp soggeth grasses laid low aneath the blade at yester’s - harvest, and thistle-bloom weareth at its crown a jewelled spray. - - “Brown thrush, nested ’neath the thick o’ yonder shrub, hath preened - her wings full long aneath the tender warmth o’ morning sun. - - “Afield the grasses glint, and breeze doth seeming set aflow the - current o’ a green-waved stream. - - “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. - - “Betanned the cheek, and tresses bleached by sun at every twist of - curl. Strong hands do clasp a branch long dead and dried, at end - bepronged, and casteth fresh-cut blades to heap.” - -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 spiritual regeneration or development of Telka. - - “See,” says Franco, “Yonder way-rose hath a bloom! She be a thrifty - wench and hath saved it from the spring.” - - _Telka._—“I hate the thorned thing. Its barb hath pricked my flesh - and full many a rent doth show it in my smock.” - - _Franco._—“Ah, Telka, thine eyes do look like yonder blue and - shimmer like to brooklet’s breast.” - - _Telka._—“The brooklet be bestoned, and muddied by the swine. Thy - tung doth trip o’er pretty words.” - - _Franco._—“But list, Telka, I would have thee drink from out my - cup!” - - _Telka._—“Ah, show me then the cup.” - -And Telka’s father, a wise old man, cautions Franco: - - “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 of the chaff by flailing of the world. She then would be to - thee but straw and waste to cast awhither.” - -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.” - - (_Franco_) “Come, we do put us to a-dry. ’Tis sky aweep, and ’tis a - gray day from now. 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.” - - (_Telka_) “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.” - - (_Franco_) “Telka, Telka, drat thy barbed tung! Cast thou the bolt. - Gad! What a scent o’ browning joint!” - - (_Telka_) “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!” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - - (_Telka_) “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 with swine lest thee be - preening for a swan.” - - (_Franco_) “Ugh, Telka! Thou art like to a vat o’ wine awork. - Thou’lt fetch the swine do ye seek to company them.” - - (_Telka_) “So well, Polly, I do go, for ’tis swine o’ worth amore - than color daub. Set thee, since thou be wench.” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - - (_Telka_) “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?” - - (_Franco_) “Away, then, and fetch thee back ahurry.” (_Exit Telka._) - - (_Franco_) “Marion, ’tis what that I should put as path to tread? - She be awronged but do I feed the fires, or put a stop?” - - (_Marion_) “Franco, ’tis a pot and stew she 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.” - - (_Franco_) “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! - - “’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——” - - “E-e-ek! E-e-e-k!” - - (_Telka_) “Look, Franco, see they ’e-e-e-k’ do I to pull their tails - uncurl!” - - (_Franco_) “Do ye then wish thee, Telka, for to play upon their - one-string lyre, or do I put ahead?” - - “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?” - - (_Telka_) “Yea, Franco, what hath he in his pack? I’d put a gander - for a frock!” - - (_Marion_) “On, Franco, thy tale hath a lilt.” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - - “E-e-e-k! E-e-e-k!” - - (_Telka_) “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.” - - (_Franco_) “What, Telka, thou awag and pig asqueak, and me the tail! - Do put quiet! - - “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.’ - - “Think ye, Marion, that peddle-man did leave and cast not pence? - What think ye, Telka?” - - (_Telka_) “I did hear thee tell o’ his fill, but tell thee o’ fill - o’ pack.” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - - (_Telka_) “Did he then to pack anew and off ’thout a peep?” - - (_Franco_) “Yea, and dark did yawn and 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!” - - (_Telka_) “’Twere a clayster, and the morrow findeth him afollow for - price, egh?” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - - (_Marion_) “Wake thee, Telka, the jugs be now to crack.” - - (_Telka_) “Nay, ’tis a puddle o’ a tale—a packster and a - strand-bound pack, aweary.” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - - (_Telka_) “But ’twere such a scurvey, Franco! I wage the jug aleft - doth leak. What think ye I be caring ’bout jug or peddle-packer?” - - (_Marion_) “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.” - - (_Franco_) “’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.” - - (_Telka_) “’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.” - - (_Franco_) “Nay, Telka, not as this, for they did dig a pit and - plant jug therein, and 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.” - - (_Telka_) “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 - adig, and I did cast them here to the fire, afearing they should - haunt.” - - (_Franco_) “’Tis nuff, Telka, I leave them to the flame. But thou - shouldst know the bush abud doth show in every smouldering blaze.” - - (_Telka_) “See, Franco, I be yet neck ahead, for I do spat upon the - flame and lo, thy bush be naught!” - - (_Franco_) “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.” - -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. - -A curious and interesting fact in this connection is that after -beginning this story Patience used its peculiar form of speech in her -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. - - * * * * * - -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, 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. - - “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. - - “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. - - “And yet the babes did fetch for feast and wert fed. Till last a day - did dawn and gap 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.” - - * * * * * - - “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. - - “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 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. - - “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.” - - * * * * * - - “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. 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.’ - - “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.” - -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. - - “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. - - “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: - - “‘Come thou, and unto the lands of me shall we make way. Thou art - not o’ the fields, but for the nobles.’ - - “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. - - “And time and time after the going, lo, no 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: - - “‘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.’ - - “And she fled unto the sun’s paths of the fields. - - “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 - which earth-lands do offer unto thee and flee with thy gift.” - -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: - - “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. - - “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. - - “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.’ - - “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. - - “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.” - - - - - CONVERSATIONS - -“This be bread. If man knoweth not the grain from which ’twer fashioned, -what then? ’Tis bread. Let man deny me this.”—PATIENCE WORTH. - - -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, 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. - -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, 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. - -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. - -Upon a certain evening the Currans had two visitors, Dr. and Mrs. W. -With Dr. W. and Mrs. C. at the board and Mrs. W. leaning over it, -Patience began: - - “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.” - -And then she told this tale of the Mite and the Seeds: - - “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: - - “‘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.’ - - “Aye, and the Seed did say unto the Mite: - - “‘Nay, there be a naught save Earth and dark, for mine eye hath not - beheld what thou tellest of.’ - - “Yea, and the Mite spake it so: - - “‘’Tis dark and cold o’er the crust o’ Earth, and thou and me awarm - and close ahere.’ - - “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.’ - - “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. - - “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.’ - - “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.’ - - “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 naught, for it feeded ’pon itself, and lo, wert not. - - “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. - - “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. - - “These abe like unto them who seek o’ the words o’ me. - - “Now aweave thou.” - -Patience then wrote about two hundred words of a story, after which Mrs. -W. inquired of Mr. C: - -“Don’t you ever try to write on the board?” To which he replied -facetiously, “No, I’m too dignified.” - -_Patience._—“Yea, he smirketh unto swine and kicketh the nobles.” - -Then seeming to feel that the visitors were wanting something more -personal than the “Tale” she said: - - “Alawk, they be ahungered, and did weave a bit. Then hark. Here be. - - “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: - - How doth the Mise-man greed, - And lay unto his store, - And seek him out the pence of Earth, - Wherein the hearts do rust? - - How doth the Muse-man greed, - And seek him o’ the Day, - And word that setteth up a wag— - While hearts o’ Earth are filthed? - - How doth the See-man greed? - Yea, and how he opeth up his eye, - And seeth naught and telleth much— - While hearts of earth are hurt. - - How doth the Good-man greed, - Who dealeth o’ the Word? - He eateth o’ its flesh and casts but bone, - While hearts o’ Earth are woed. - - How doth the Man-man greed? - He eateth o’ the store, yet holdeth ope - His hands and scattereth o’ bread - And hearts o’ Earth are fed. - - This then abe, and yet will be - Since time and time, and beeth ever.” - -As soon as this was read, she followed with another song: - - Drink ye unto me. - Drink ye deep, to me. - Yea, and seek ye o’ the Brew ye quaff, - For this do I to beg. - Seek not the wine o’ Summer’s sun, - That hid ’mid purpled vine, - And showeth there amid the Brew - Thou suppest as the Wine. - Seek not the drops o’ pool, - Awarmed aneath the sun, - And idly lapping at the brink - Of mosses’ lips, to sup. - Seek not o’ vintage Earth doth hold. - Nay, unto thee this plea shall wake - The Wine that thou shouldst quaff. - For at the loving o’ this heart - The Wine o’ Love shall flow. - Then drink ye deep, ah, drink ye deep, - And drink ye deep o’ Love. - - “Yea, thine unto me, and mine to thee.” - -After which she explained: - - “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.” - -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. - - * * * * * - -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: - - _Patience._—“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.” - -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.: - - Out ’pon the sea o’ learning, - Floateth the barque o’ one aseek. - Out ’pon troubled waters floateth the craft, - Abuilded staunch o’ beams o’ truth. - And though the waves do beat them high - And wash o’er and o’er the prow, - Fear thee not, for Truth saileth on. - Set thy beacon, then, to crafts not thine, - For thou hast a light for man. - - “There, thou knowest me. I tell thee I speak unto him who hath truth - for his very own. Set thee aweave.” - -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: - - “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.” - -Mrs. X. gave up her place to Miss B., a teacher of botany, to whom -Patience presented this tribute: - - “The eye o’ her seeth but beauties and shutteth up that which - showeth darked, that that 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. - - “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.” - -Patience then turned her attentions again to Dr. X. “He yonder,” she -said, “hath much aneath his skull’s-cap that he wordeth not.” - -Thus urged, Dr. X. inquired: - -“Does Patience prepare the manuscript she gives in advance? It rather -seems that she reads the material to Mrs. Curran.” - -“See ye,” cried Patience, “he hath spoke a thing that set aneath his -skull’s-cap!” And then, in answer to his question: - - “She who afashioneth loaf doth shake well the grain-dust that husks - show not. Then doth she for to brew and stir and mix, else the loaf - be not afit for eat.” - -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: - -“Are these stories real happenings?” - -To which Patience replied: - - “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.” - -“Then,” asked Dr. X., “should you have transmitted through one who spoke -another language you would have used their tongue?” - -Patience answered: - -“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.” - -“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. - -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 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. - - _Dr. Z._—“Why isn’t there some other means you could use more easy - to manipulate than the ouija board?” - - _Patience._—“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.” - -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.” - - _Dr. Z._—“How did you know this avenue was open?” - - _Patience._—“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’ putting; and ’twer the me o’ me at seek, aye, and find. - Aye, and ’twer so.” - -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. - - _Dr. Z._—“Did you go forth to seek, or were you sent?” - - _Patience._—“There be nay tracker o’ path ne’er put thereon by - sender.” - - _Dr. Z._—“Did you know of the ouija board and its use before?” - - _Patience._—“Nay, ’tis not the put o’ me, the word hereon. ’Tis the - put o’ me at see o’ her. - - “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. - - “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, ’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.” - - _Dr. Z._—“Why don’t we own it, Patience?” - - _Patience._—“’Tis at fear o’ gab.” - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 phenomena, and Patience immediately directed her guns upon the -anatomist, in this manner: - - _Patience._—“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. - - “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. - - “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, 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. - - “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!” - -There was some discussion following this argument in which Dr. X. -admitted that he accepted only material facts and believed but what he -saw. - - _Patience._—“Man maketh temples that reach them unto the skies, and - yet He fashioneth a gnat, and where be man’s learning! - - “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.” - - _Dr. X._—“That’s all right, Patience, and a good argument; but tell - me where the him o’ him of my dog is.” - - _Patience._—“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!” - -Miss J. then took the board and Patience said: - - “She taketh it she standeth well athin the sight o’ me that she - weareth the frock o’ me.” - -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. - - _Patience._—“Here be a one aheart ope, and she hath the in-man who - she proddeth that he opeth his eyes. Yea, she seest that which be - and thou seest not.” - -It was remarked that Patience was evidently trying to be very nice to -Miss J. - - _Patience._—“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.” - -Miss J. said this was true. - -_Patience._—“Shall I then sing unto thee, wench?” - -Miss J. expressed delight, and the song followed. - - Ah, how do I to build me up my song for thee? - Yea, and tell unto thee of Him. - I’d shew unto thee His loving, - I’d shew unto thee His very face. - Do then to list to this my song. - - Early hours, strip o’ thy pure, - For ’tis the heart of Him. - Earth, breathe deep thy busom, - Yea, and rock the sea, - For ’tis the breath of Him. - Fields, burst ope thy sod, - And fling thee loose thy store, - For ’tis the robe of Him. - Skies, shed thou thy blue, - The depth of heaven, - For ’tis the eyes of Him. - Winter’s white, stand thou thick - And shed thy soft o’er earth, - For ’tis the touch of Him. - Spring, shed thou thy loosened - Laughter of the streams, - For ’tis the voice of Him. - Noon’s heat, and tire o’ earth, - Shed thou of rest to His, - For ’tis the rest of Him. - Evil days of earth, - Stride thou on and smite, - For ’tis the frown of Him. - - Earth, this, the chant o’ me, - May end, as doth the works o’ man, - But hark ye; Earth holdeth all - That hath been; - And Spring’s ope, and sowing - O’ the Winter’s tide, - Shall bear the Summer’s full - Of that that be no more. - - For, at the waking o’ the Spring, - The wraiths o’ blooms agone - Shall rise them up from out the mould - And speak to thee of Him. - - Thus, the songs o’ me, - The works o’ thee, - The Earth’s own bloom, - Are HIM. - -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: - - “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; 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.” - -This was discussed as a character delineation. - - _Patience._—“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.” - -_Dr. V._—“Why fear Death?” - - _Patience._—“Thou shouldst eat o’ the loaf (her writings). Ayea, - ’tis right and meet that flesh shrinketh at the lash.” - -Dr. V. was told of her poems on the fear of death. - -_Dr. V._—“What do you think of the attempts to investigate you? Is it -right?” - - _Patience._—“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.” - -_Dr. V._—“Have you ever lived?” - - _Patience._—“What! Think ye that I be a prater o’ thy path and ne’er - atrod? Then thou art afollied, for canst thou tell o’ here?” - -_Dr. V._—“When did you live on earth?” - - _Patience._—“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.” - -_Dr. V._—“I understand; but can you not answer a little clearer the -question I put?” - - _Patience._—“The time be not ariped for the put o’ this.” - -_Dr. V._—“What does Lethe mean?” - - _Patience._—“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.” - -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: - - “Brother, this be not a trapping o’ thy sword, the seeking o’ me. - Nay, ’tis ahind a cloak I do for to stand, that this word abe, and - not me.” - -Mr. Curran here stated that this had ever been so; that Patience had -obscured herself so that her message could not be clouded. - - _Patience._—“Aright. I do sing. - - Gone! Gone! Ayea, thou art gone! - Gone, and earth doth stand it stark. - Gone! Gone! The even’s breath - Doth breathe it unto me - In echo soft; yea, but sharped, - And cutting o’ this heart. - - Gone! Gone! Aye, thou art gone! - The day is darked, and sun - Hath sorried sore and wrapped him in the dark. - Gone! Gone! This heart doth drip o’ drops - With sorry singing o’ this song. - - Gone! Gone! Yea, thou art gone! - And where, beloved, where? - Doth yonder golden shaft o’ light - That pierceth o’ the cloud - Then speak unto this heart? - Art thou athin the day’s dark hours? - Hast thou then hid from sight o’ me, - And yet do know mine hour? - - Gone! Gone! What then hath Earth? - What then doth day to bring - To this the sorry-laden heart o’ me, - That weepeth blood drops here? - - Gone! Gone! Yea, but hark! - For I did trick the sorry, loved; - For where e’er thou art am I. - Yea, this love o’ me shall follow thee - Unto the Where, and thou shalt ever know - That though this sorry setteth me - I be where’er thou art.” - -After this Dr. K., who resides in St. Louis, took the board. - - _Patience._—“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. - - “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.” - -Here Dr. V. asked: “Do you know Dr. James?” - -This referred to the late Dr. William James, the celebrated psychologist -of Harvard. - - _Patience._—“I telled a one o’ the brothers and the neighbors o’ thy - day, and he doth know.” - -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. - -_Dr. V._—“Have you associated with Dr. James?” - - _Patience._—“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. - - “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.” - -_Dr. V._—“Could Dr. James, by seeking as you did, communicate with -someone here as you are doing?” - - _Patience._—“This abe so; he who seeketh abe 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.” - -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. - -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: - - _Patience._—“Aye, ’tis a tickle I be. Hark, there be a pulse—Nay, - she (Mrs. Curran) putteth o’ the word! Alist.—There abe a 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. - - “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’ 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.” - -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: - - How have I sought! - Yea, how have I asought, - And seeked me ever through the earth’s hours, - Amid the damp, cool moon, when winged scrape - Doth sound and cry unto the day - The waking o’ the hosts! - Yea, and ’mid the noon’s heat, - When Earth doth wither ’neath the sun, - And rose doth droop from sun’s-kiss, - That stole the dew; and ’mid the wastes - O’ water where they whirl and rage, - And seeked o’ word that I - Might put to answer thee. - Ayea, from days have I then stripped - The fulness of their joys, and pryed - The very buds that they might ope for thee. - Aye, and sought the days apast, - That I might sing them unto thee. - And ever, ever, cometh unto me - Thy song o’ why? why? why? - And then, lo, I found athin this heart - The answer to thy song. - Aye, it chanteth sweet unto this ear, - And filleth up the song. - Do hark thee, hark unto the song, - For answer to thy why? why? why? - I sing me Give! Give! Give! - Aye, ever Give! - -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: - - “They do seek o’ me, ever; that they do 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.” - -After due acknowledgments from Dr. R., she continued: - - “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.” - -Dr. R., a neurologist, gave hearty assent. - - “Put thou unto me. (Question me.) ’Tis awish I be that ye weave.” - -_Dr. R._—“Do you see through Mrs. Curran’s eyes and hear through her -ears?” - - _Patience._—“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.” - -Then to a question had she ever talked before with anyone, she said: -“Anaught save the flesh o’ me.” - -“Fetch ye the wheel,” she commanded, “that I do sit and spin.” - -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: - - “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.” - -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: - - “Hark unto me, thou aside. Thou shalt put (say) ’tis her ahere - (_i.e._, 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, and the word o’ me shall stand, e’en when - thou and thou art ne’er ahere! - - “E’en he who doth know not o’ the Here hath felt the tickle o’ my - word, and seeketh much this hearth. - - “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!” - -Dr. P. asked her a question about her looks. - -“’Tis a piddle he putteth,” she said. - - * * * * * - -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. - - “Aflurry I be!” cried Patience. “Aye, for the pack o’ me be afulled - o’ song and weave, and e’en word to them ahere. - - “Yea, but afirst there be a weave, for the thrift-bite eateth o’ - me.” (The bite of her thrifty nature.) - -Some of the story followed and then she said to Mrs. M., who sat at the -board: - - “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! - - “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!” - -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: - - “Thinkest thou he who setteth astraight the wry doth piddle o’ a - song? Anay, to him who musics do I to sing.” - -This referred to Mr. G., who is a musician and a composer, and he took -the board. Patience at once gave him this song: - - Nodding, nodding, ’pon thy stem, - Thou bloom o’ morn, - Nodding, nodding to the bees, - Asearch o’ honey’s sweet. - Wilt thou to droop and wilt the dance o’ thee, - To vanish with the going o’ the day? - Hath the tearing o’ the air o’ thy sharped thorn - Sent musics up unto the bright, - Or doth thy dance to mean anaught - Save breeze-kiss ’pon thy bloom? - - Hath yonder songster harked to thee, - And doth he sing thy love? - Or hath he tuned his song of world’s wailing o’ the day? - Doth morn shew thee naught save thy garden’s wall - That shutteth thee away, a treasure o’ thy day? - Doth yonder hum then spell anaught, - Save whirring o’ the wing that hovereth - O’er thy bud to sup the sweet? - - Ah, garden’s deep, afulled o’ fairies’ word, - And creeped o’er with winged mites, - Where but the raindrops’ patter telleth thee His love— - Doth all this vanish then, at closing o’ the day? - Anay. For He hath made a one who seeketh here, - And storeth drops, and song, and hum, and sweets, - And of these weaveth garland for the earth. - From off his lute doth drip the day of Him. - -Patience then turned her attention to Mr. M., saying: - - “Ayea, he standeth afar from the feasting place and doth to smack - him much!” - -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: - - “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: - - “’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! - - “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 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!” - -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: - - Loth as Night to dark o’ Day, - Loth do I to sing. - Aye, but doth the Day aneed a song, - ’Tis they, o’ Him, - The songsters o’ the Earth, - Do sing them on, to Him. - What though ’tis asmiled? And what - Though ’tis nay aseeked o’ such a song? - Aye, what though ’tis sung ’mid dark? - ’Tis I would sing, - Do thee to list, or nay. - -“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.” - - - THE STORY OF THE HERBS - - “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 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. - - “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. - - “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 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. - - “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: - - “‘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 - drunked her tears shed o’ loving, and standeth sweet-bloomed from - out the tears o’ her.’ - - “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.” - -Following this pretty parable someone spoke of a newspaper article that -had appeared that day, and Patience remarked: - -“’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.” - -With this sage observation she dismissed the “fool” as unworthy of -further consideration, and gave this poem: - - Do I to love the morn, - When Earth awakes, and streams - Aglint o’ sun’s first gold, - As siren’s tresses thred them through the fields; - When sky-cup gleameth as a pearl; - When sky-hosts wake, and leaf bowers - Wave aheavied with the dew? - Do I to love the eve, - When white the moon doth show, - And frost’s sweet sister, young night’s breath, - Doth stand aglistened ’pon the blades; - When dark the shadow deepeth, - Like to the days agone that stand - As wraiths adraped o’ black - Along the garden’s path; - When sweet the nestlings twitter - ’Neath the wing of soft and down - That hovereth it there within - The shadows deep atop the tree? - - Do I to love the mid-hours deep— - The royal color o’ the night? - For earth doth drape her purpled, - And jeweled o’er athin this hour. - - Do I to love these hours, then, - As the loved o’ me? - Nay, for at the morn, - Lo, do I to love the eve! - And at the eve, - Lo, do I to love the morn! - And at the morn and eve, - ’Tis night that claimeth me. - -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: - - “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!” - -And then she gave them to understand that she had listened to their -discussion! - - “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?” - -Here the sitters asked: “How about a life for a life, Patience?” - - _Patience._—“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. - - “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. - - “Thou canst strip the body, yea, but the soul defieth thee!” - - * * * * * - -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. - - “Aye,” said Patience, “a deeper than word. There be ahere what thou - knowest abetter far 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. - - “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? - - “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. - - “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, but what then? And why doth not the - blood o’ me speak unto me? - - “’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.” - -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: - - “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. - - “Sweet hath the sound of the word o’ Him asounded unto the ears o’ - Earth that hark not. - - “Yea, and He hath beat upon the busom of Earth and sounded out a - loud noise, and Earth harkened not. - - “And He hath sung thro’ the mother’s songs o’ Earth, and Earth - harkened not. - - “Yea, and He hath sent His own with word, and Earth harkened not. - - “Then ’tis Earth’s own folly that batheth her. - - “Yea, and Folly cometh astreaming ribbands, and showering color, and - grinning ’pon his way. - - “Yea, but Folly masketh and leadeth Earth and man assuredly unto - Follies pit—self. And self is blind. - - “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.’ - - “And lo, the Earth filled up o’ self, hearketh not unto the words of - Him, the King of Wisdom. - - “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. - - “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. - - “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. - - “’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. - - “Yea, for Folly leadeth, and Wisdom warreth Folly.” - - - - - RELIGION - - “Teach me that I be Ye.” - - -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 -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. - -But why is it contributed? Is there in it any intimation or assertion of -a definite purpose? - -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. - -“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.” - -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. - -“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.” - -“’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.” - -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.” - -It is thus she announces herself to be a herald of a new day, a bearer -of tidings divinely commissioned. - -What, then, is her message? For answer it may be said that it is at once -a revelation, a 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. - -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: - - Ah, could I love thee, - Thou, the loveless o’ the earth, - And pry aneath the crannies - Yet untouched by mortal hand - To send therein this love o’ mine— - Thou creeping mite, and winged speck, - And whirled waters o’ the mid o’ sea - Where no man seeth thee? - And could I love thee, the days - Unsunned and laden with hate o’ sorrying? - Ah, could I love thee, - Thou who beareth blight; - And thou the fruit bescorched - And shrivelling, to fall unheeded - ’Neath thy mother-stalk? - - Ah, could I love thee, love thee? - Aye, for Him who loveth thee, - And blightest but through loving; - Like to him who bendeth low the forest’s king - To fashion out a mast. - -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: - - I’d sing. - Wearied word adropped by weary ones, - And broked mold afashioned out by wearied hands; - A falter-song sung through tears o’ wearied one; - A fancied put o’ earth’s fair scene - Afallen at awry o’ weariness. Love’s task - Unfinished, aye, o’ertaken by sore weariness— - O’ thee I’d sing. - - Aye, and put me such an songed-note - That earth, aye, and heaven, should hear; - And thou, aye all o’ ye, the soul-songs - O’ my brothers, be afinished, - At the closing o’ my song. - - Aye, and wearied, aye and wearied, I’d sing. - I’d sing for them, the loved o’ Him, - And brothers o’ thee and me. Amen. - -This is the prelude and now comes the song: - - I choose o’ the spill - O’ love and word and work, - The waste o’ earth, to build. - - Ye hark unto the sages, - And oft a way-singer’s song - Hath laden o’erfull o’ truth, - And wasteth ’pon the air, - And falleth not unto thine ear. - - Think ye He scattereth whither - E’en such an grain? Nay. - And do ye seek o’ spill - And put unto thy song, - ’Twill fill its emptiness. - - Ye seek to sing but o’ thy song, - And ’tis an empty strain. ’Tis need - O’ love’s spill for to fill. - -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.” - - -------------- - -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. - - Earth hath filled it up o’ waste and waste. - The sea’s fair breast, that heaveth as a mother’s, - Beareth waste o’ wrecks and wind-blown waste. - The day doth hold o’ waste. - The smiles that die, that long to break, - The woes that burden them already broke, - ’Tis waste, ah yea, ’tis waste. - And yet, and yet, at some fair day, - E’en as the singing thou dost note - Doth bound from yonder hill’s side green - As echo, yea, the ghost o’ thy voice; - So shall all o’ this to sound aback - Unto the day. - Of waste, of waste, is heaven builded up. - -It is to the waste of earth that she speaks in this message of love and -sympathy: - - Ah, emptied heart! The weary o’ the path! - How would I to fill ye up o’ love! - I’d tear this lute, that it might whirr - A song that soothed thy lone, awearied path. - I’d steal the sun’s pale gold, - And e’en the silvered even’s ray, - To treasure them within this song - That it be rich for thee. - From out the wastes o’ earth I’d seek - And catch the woe-tears shed, - That I might drink them from the cup - And fill it up with loving. - From out the hearts afulled o’ love - Would I to steal the o’er-drip - And pack the emptied hearts of earth. - The bread o’ love would I to cast - Unto thy bywayed path, and pluck me - From the thornèd bush that traileth o’er - The stepping-place, the thorn, that brothers - O’ the flesh o’ me might step ’pon path acleared. - Yea, I’d coax the songsters o’ the earth - To carol thee upon thy ways, - And fill ye up o’ love and love and love. - -And a message of cheer and encouragement she gives to those who sorrow, -in this: - - “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.” - -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: - - The smile thou cast today that passed - Unheeded by the world; the handclasp - Of a friend, the touch of baby palms - Upon its mother’s breast— - Whither have they flown along the dreary way? - Mayhap thy smile - Hath fallen upon a daisy’s golden head, - To shine upon some weary traveler - Along the dusty road, and cause - A softening of the hard, hard way. - Perchance the handclasp strengthened wavering love - And lodged thee in thy friend’s regard. - And where the dimpled hands caress, - Will not a well of love spring forth? - Who knows, but who will tell - The hiding of these fleeting gifts! - -And she gives measure to the same thought in this: - - Waft ye through the world sunlight; - Throw ye to the sparrows grain - That runneth o’er the heaping measure. - Scatter flower petals, like the wings - Of fluttering butterflies, to streak - The dove-gray day with daisy gold, - And turn the silver mist to fleece of gold. - Hath the king a noble who is such - An wonder-worker? Or hath his jester - Such a pack of tricks as thine? - -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: - - Hands. Hands. The hands o’ Earth; - Abusied at fashioning, Aye, - And put o’ this, aye, and that. - Hands. Hands upturned at empty. - Hands. Hands untooled, aye, but builders - O’ the soothe o’ Earth. - - Hands. Hands aspread, aye, and sending forth - That which they do hold—the emptiness. - Aye, at empty they be, afulled o’ the give o’ Him. - At put at up, aye, and down, ’tis at weave - O’ cloth o’ Him they be. - - Hands. Hands afulled o’ work o’ Him; - Aye, and ever at a spread o’ doing in His name. - Aye, and at put o’ weave - For naught but loving. - -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. - -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 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: - - Brother, weary o’ the plod, - Art sorried sore o’ waiting? - Brother, bowed aneath the pack o’ Earth, - Art seeking o’ the path - That leadest thee unto new fields - O’ green, and breeze-kissed airs? - Art bowed and bent o’ weight o’ sorry? - Art weary, weary, sore? - Then come and hark unto this song o’ Him. - - Hast thou atrodden ’pon the Earth, - And worn the paths o’ folly - Till thou art foot-sore? - And hast the day grinned back to thee, - A folly-mask adown thy path - That layeth far behind thee? - Thy heart, my brother, hast thou then - Alost it ’pon the path? - And filled thee up o’ word and tung - O’ follysingers long the way? - - Ah, weary me, ah, weary me! - Come thou unto this breast. - For though thou hast suffered o’ the Earth, - And though thy robe be stained - O’ travel o’er the stoney way, - And though thy lips deny thy heart, - Come thou unto this breast, - The breast o’ Him. - For He knoweth not the stain. - Aye, and the land o’ Him doth know - No stranger ’mid its hosts. - Ayea, and though thou comest mute, - This silence speaketh then to Him, - And He doth hold Him ope His arms. - - So come thou brother, weary one, - To Him, for ’tis but Earth and men - Who ask thee WHY. - -She pours out her love for God in many verses of praise and prayer. - - Bird skimming to the south, - Bear thou my song, - Sand slipping to the wave’s embrace, - Do thou but bear it too! - And, shifting tide, take thou - Unto thy varied paths - The voicing of my soul! - - I’d build me such an endless - Chant to sing of Him - That days to follow days - Would be but builded chord - Of this my lay. - -Still more ardently does she express her love in these lines: - - Spring, thou art but His smile - Of happiness in me, and sullen days - Of weariness shall fall when Spring is born - In winds of March and rains of April’s tears. - Methinks ’tis weariness of His that I, - His loved, should tarry o’er the task - And leave life’s golden sheaves unbound. - And, Night, thou too art mine, of Him. - Thy dim and veiled stars are but the eyes - Of Him that through the curtained mystery - Watch on and sever dark from me. - And, Love, thou too art His, - His words of wooing to my soul. - Should I, then, crush thee in embrace, - And bruise thee with my kiss, - And drink thy soul through mine? - What, then! ’Tis He, ’tis He, my love, - That gave me thee, and while my love is thine, - What wonder is it causeth here - This heart of mine to stifle so - And seek expression in a prayer of thanks? - -With equal fervency of devotion and gratitude she sings this tribute to -the day: - - Ah, what a day He hath made, He hath made! - It flasheth abright and asweet, and asweet. - It showeth His love and His smile, yea, His smile. - - The hills stand abrown, aye astand brown, - And peaked as a monk in his cowl, aye, his cowl! - The grass it hath seared, aye, hath seared - And scenteth asweet, yea, asweet. - Ayonder a swallow doth whirl, aye, doth whirl, - And skim mid the grey o’ the blue, - Aye, the grey o’ the blue. - The young wave doth lap ’pon the sands, - Yea, lap soft and soft ’pon the sands. - The field’s maid doth seek, yea, doth seek, - And send out her song to the day, - Yea, send out her song to the day. - - My heart it is full, yea, ’tis full, - For the love of Him batheth the day, - Yea, the love of Him batheth the day. - - Ah, what a day He hath made, - Yea, He hath made it for me! - -Her prayers are not appeals for aid; they are not begging petitions. -They are outpourings of love and trust and gratitude. - -To an old couple, friends of Mr. and Mrs. Curran, who passed a -round-eyed evening with Patience, she said: - - Keep ye within thy heart a song - And murmur thou this prayer: - - “My God, am I then afraid - Of heights or depths? - And doth this dark benumb my quaking limbs? - And do I stop my song in fear - Lest Thee do then forsake me? - Nay, for I do love Thee so, - I fain would choose a song - Built from my chosen tung, - And though it be but chattering - Of a soul bereft of reasoning, - I know Thou would’st love it as Thine own, - For I do love Thee so!” - -This was not given for another, but is her own cry: - - I beseech Thee, Lord, for naught! - But cry aloud unto the sunlight - Who bathes the earth in gold - And boldly breaketh into crannies - Yet unseen by man: - Flash thou in flaming sheen! - Mine own song of love doth falter - And my throat, it is afail! - - And thou, the greening shrub along the way, - And earth at bud-season, - Do thou then spurt thy shoots - And pierce the air with loving! - And age-wabbled brother— - I do love thee for thy spending, - And I do gaze in loving at thy face, - Whereon I find His peace, - And trace the withered cheek - For record of His love. - Around thy lips doth hang - The child-smile of a trusting heart; - And world hath vanished - From thine eyes, bedimmed - To gard thee at awakening. - Thou, too, art of my song of love. - - I beseech Thee, Lord, for naught. - These hands are Thine for loving, - And this heart, already Thine, - Why offer it? - I beseech Thee, Lord, for naught. - -This one does ask for something, but only to know Him: - - Teach me, O God, - To say, “’Tis not enough.” - Aye, teach me, O Brother, - To sing, and though the weight - Be past this strength, - Teach me, O God, to say, - “’Tis not enough—to pay!” - - Teach me, O God, for I be weak. - Teach me to learn - Of strength from Thee. - - Teach me, O God, to trust, and do. - Teach me, O God, no word to pray. - Teach me, O God, the heart Thou gavest me. - Teach me, O God, to read thereon. - Teach me, O God, to waste not word. - Teach me that I be Ye! - -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. - -“I be Him,” she replied; “alike to thee. Ye be o’ Him.” - -At another time she said: - -“I be all that hath been, and all that is, all that shalt be, for that -be He.” - -Taken alone this would seem to be a declaration that she herself was -God, but when it is read in connection with the previous affirmation it -is readily understood. - -“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.” - -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. - -She herself interprets the line, “Teach me, O God, to waste not word,” -in this verse: - - Speak ye a true tongue, - Or waste ye with words the Soul’s song? - A damning evidence is with wasted words; - For need I prate to yonder star - When hunger fills the world wherein I dwell? - Cast I a glance so precious as His - Which wakes at every dawn? - Speak I a tongue one half so true - As sighing winds who sing amid - Aeolian harps strung with siren tress? - For lo, the sea murmureth a thousand tones, - Wrung from its world within, - But telleth only of Him, - And so His silence keeps. - -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. - -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. - -“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!” - -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.” - -And she puts the same assertion of His divine birth into this tribute to -the Virgin: - - Mary, mother, thou art the Spring - That flowereth, though nay man aplanteth thee. - Mary, mother, the song of thee - That lulled His dreams to come, - Sing them athrough the earth and bring - The hope of rest unto the day. - - Mary, mother, from out the side of Him - That thou didst bear, aflowed the crimson tide - That doth to stain e’en unto this day— - The tide of blood that ebbed the man - From out the flesh and left the God to be. - - Mary, mother, wilt thou then leave me catch - These drops, that I do offer them as drink - Unto the brothers of the flesh of me of earth? - Mary, mother of the earth’s loved! - Mary, bearer of the God! - Mary, that I might call thee of a name befitting thee, - I seek, I seek, I seek, and none - Doth offer it to me save this: - Mother! Mother! Mother of the Him; - The flesh that died for me. - - - - - THE IDEAS ON IMMORTALITY - -“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!”—PATIENCE WORTH. - - -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 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. - - “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. - - “What then is a sigh? Ah, man may breathe a sorrow. Doth then the - dumbness of 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.” - -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 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.” - -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.” - -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. - - I made a song from the dead notes of His birds, - And wove a wreath of withered lily buds, - And gathered daisies that the sun had scorched, - And plucked a rose the riotous wind had torn, - And stolen clover flowers, down-trodden by the kine, - And fashioned into ropes and tied with yellow reed, - An offering unto Him: and lo, the dust - Of crumbling blossoms fell to bloom again, - And smiled like sickened children, - Wistfully, but strong of faith that mother-stalk - Would send fresh blossoms in the spring. - -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: - - My youth is promising as spring, - And verdant as young weeds, - Whose very impudence taketh them - Where bloom the garden’s treasures. - My midlife, like the summer, who blazeth - As a fire of blasting heat, fed by withered - Crumbling weeds of my spring. - My sunset, like the fall who ripeneth - The season’s offerings. And hoar frost - Is my winter night, fraught with borrowed warmth, - And flowers, and filled with weeds, - Which spring e’en ’neath the frozen waste? - Ah, is the winter then my season’s close? - Or will I pin a faith to hope and look - Again for spring, who lives eternal in my soul? - -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: - - O sea! The panting bosom of the Earth; - The sighing, singing carol of her heart! - I watch thee and I dream a dream - Whose fruit doth sicken me. - White sails do fleck thy sheen, and yonder moon - Doth seem to dip thy depths - And sail the silver mirror, high above. - Unharbored do I rove. Along the shore behind, - The shadow of Tomorrow creepeth on. - A seething silvered path doth stretch thy length, - To meet the curving cheek of Lady Moon. - I dream the flutt’ring waves to fanning wings - And fain would follow in their course. But stay! - My barque doth plow anew, and set the wings to flight; - For though I watch their tremorous mass, my craft - But saileth harbor-loosed, and ever stretcheth far - Beyond the moon’s own phantom path— - And I but dream a dream whose fruit doth sicken me. - Ah, Sea! who planted thee, and cast - A silver purse, unloosed, upon thy breast? - My barque, who then did harbor it, - And who unfurled its sail? - And yonder moon, from whence her silver coaxed? - Methinks my dream doth wax her wroth, - Else why the pallor o’er her cast? - Dare I to sail, to steer me at the wheel? - Shall I then hide my face and cease my murmuring, - O’erfearful lest I find the port? - Nay, I do know thee, Lord, and fearless sail me on, - To harbor then at dawning of new day. - I stand unfearful at the prow. - At anchor rests my barque. Away, thou phantom Moon, - And restless, seething path! - My chart I cast unto the sea, - For I do know Thee, Lord! - -This triumph of faith is also the theme of the weird allegory which -follows. It is, perhaps, the most mystical of Patience’s productions. - - - THE PHANTOM AND THE DREAMER - - _Phantom:_ - Thick stands the hill in garb of fir, - And winter-stripped the branching shrub. - Cold gray the sky, and glistered o’er - With star-dust pulsing tremorously. - - Snow, the lady of the Winter Knight, - Hath danced her weary and fallen to her rest. - She lieth stretched in purity - And dimpled ’neath the trees. - A trackless waste doth lie from hill - To valley ’neath, and Winter’s Knight - Doth sing a wooing lay unto his love. - - Cot on cot doth stand deserted, - And thro’ the purpled dark they show - Like phantoms of a life long passed - To nothingness. Hear thou the hollowness - Of the sea’s coughing beat against - The cliff beneath, and harken ye - To the silence of the valley there. - Doth chafe ye of thy loneliness? - Then sleep and let me put a dream to thee. - - See ye the cot— - A speck o’ dark adown the hillside, - And sheltered o’er with fir-bows, - Heavy-laden with the kiss of Lady Snow? - Come hither then. Let’s bruise this snowy breast, - And fetch us there unto its door. - See! Here a twig - Hath battled with the wind, and lost. - We then may cast it ’mid its brothers - Of the bush and plow us on. - Look ye to the thick thatch - O’er the gable of the roof, - Piled higher with a blanketing of snow; - And shutters hang agape, to rattle - Like the cackle of a crone. - The blackness of a pit within, - And filled with sounds that tho’ they be - But seasoning of the log, doth freeze - Thy marrowmeat. I feel the quake - And shake thee for thy fear. - - Stride thou within and set a flint to brush - Within the chimney-place. We then shall rouse - The memory of the tenant here— - A night, my friend, thee’lt often call to mind. - The flame hath sprung and lappeth at the twigs. - Thee’lt watch the burning of thy hastiness, - And wait thee long - Until the embers slip away to smoke. - Then strain ye to its weaving - And spell to me the reading of its folds. - - _Dreamer:_ - I see thin, threading lines that writhe them - To a shape—a visage ever changeful, - Or mine eyes do play me false, - For it doth smile to twist it to a leer, - And sadden but to laugh in mockery. - I see a lad whose face - Doth shine illumed, and he doth bear - The kiss of wisdom on his brow. - I see him travail ’neath a weary load, - And close beside him Wisdom follows on. - Burdened not is he. Do I see aright? - For still the light of wisdom shineth o’er. - But stay! What! Do mine eyes then cheat? - This twisting smoke-wreath - Filleth all too much my sight! - - _Phantom:_ - Nay, friend, strain thee now anew. - The lad! Now canst thou see? - Nay, for like to him - Thou hast looked thee at the face of Doubt. - - _Dreamer:_ - Who art thou, shape or phantom, then, - That thou canst set my dream to flight? - I doubt me that the lad could stand - Beneath the load! - - _Phantom:_ - Nay, thee canst ravel well, my friend. - The lad was thee, and Doubt - O’ertook with Wisdom on thy way. - Come, bury Doubt aneath the ash. - We travel us anew. - Seest thou, a rimming moon doth show - From ’neath the world’s beshadowed side. - A night bird chatteth to its mate, - And lazily the fir-boughs wave. - We track us to the cot whose roof - Doth sag—and why thy shambling tread? - I bid ye on! - - _Dreamer:_ - Who art thou—again I that demand— - That I shall follow at thy bidding? - Who set me then this task? - - _Phantom:_ - Step thou within! - Stand thee on the thresh of this roofless void! - Look thou! Dost see the maid - Who coyly stretcheth forth her hand - To welcome thee? She biddeth thee - To sit and sup. I bid thee speak. - Awaken thee unto her welcoming. - - _Dreamer:_ - Enough! This fancy-breeding sickeneth - My very soul! A skeleton of murdered trees, - Ribbed with pine and shanked of birch! - And thee wouldst bid me then - Embrace the emptiness. - I see naught, and believe but what I see. - - _Phantom:_ - Look thou again, and strain. - What seest thou? - - _Dreamer:_ - I see a newly kindled fire, - And watch its burning glow until - The embers die and send their ghosts aloft. - But ash remaineth—and I chill! - For rising there, a shape - Whose visage twisteth drunkenly, - And from her garments falls a dust of ash. - - _Phantom:_ - Doubt! Unburied, friende! We journey on, - And mark ye well each plodding footfall - Singing like to golden metal with the frost. - The night a scroll of white, and lined - With blackish script— - The lines of His own putting! - Read thee there! Thou seest naught, - And believe but what ye see! - Stark nakedness and waste—but hearken ye! - The frost skirt traileth o’er the crusted snow - And singeth young leaves’ songs of Spring. - - Still art thou blind! - But at His touching shall the darkness bud - And bloom to rosy morn. And even now, - Were I to snap a twig ’twould bleed and die. - See ye; ’tis done! Look ye! - Ye believe but what ye see: - Here within thy very hand - Thou holdest Doubt’s undoing. - I bid ye look upon the bud - Already gathered ’neath the tender bark. - The sun’s set and rise hath coaxed it forth. - Thee canst see the rogue hath stolen red - And put it to its heart. And here - Aneath the snow the grass doth love the earth - And nestles to her breast. - I stand me here, and lo, the Spring hath broke! - The dark doth slip away to hide, - And flowering, singing, sighing, loving Spring - Is here! - - _Dreamer:_ - Aye, thou art indeed - A wonder-worker in the night! - A black pall, a freezing blast, - An unbroken path—and thou - Wouldst have me then to prate o’ Spring, - And pluck a bud where dark doth hide the bush! - Who cometh from the thicket higher there? - - _Phantom:_ - ’Tis Doubt to meet thee, friend! - - _Dreamer:_ - Who art thou? I fain would flee, - And yet I fear to leave lest I be lost. - I hate thee and thy weary task! - - _Phantom:_ - Nay, brother, thy lips do spell, - But couldst thee read their words aright - Thee wouldst meet again with Doubt. - Come! We journey on unto the cot - Beloved the most by me. I bid thee - Let thy heart to warm within thy breast. - A thawing melteth frozen Hope. - See how, below, the sea hath veiled - Her secret held so close, - And murmured only to the winds - Who woo her ever and anon. - The waves do lap them, hungry for the sands. - Careful! Lest the sun’s pale rise - Should blind thee with its light. - A shaft to put it through - The darkness of thy soul must needs - But be a glimmering to blind. - Step ye to the hearthstone then, - And set thee there a flame anew. - I bid ye read again - The folding of the smoke. - - _Dreamer:_ - ’Tis done, thou fiend! - A pretty play for fools, indeed. - I swear me that ’tis not - For loving of the task I builded it, - But for the warming of its glow. - - _Phantom:_ - In truth ye speak. But read! - - _Dreamer:_ - I see a hag whose brow - Doth wrinkle like a summer sea. - For do I look unto the sea - At Beauty’s own fair form, - It writheth to a twisted shape, - And I do doubt me of her loveliness. - The haggard visage of the crone - I now behold, doth set me doubting - Of mine eye, for dimples seem - To flutter ’neath the wrinkled cheek. - - _Phantom:_ - So, then, thee believest - But what thine eyes behold! - Thee findest then - Thy seeing in a sorry plight. - I marvel at thy wisdom, lad. - Look ye anew. Mayhap thee then - Canst coax the crone away. - - _Dreamer:_ - Enough! The morn hath kissed the night adieu, - And even while I prate - A redwing crimsoneth the snow in flight. - Kindled tinder smoldereth away, - And I do strain me to its fold. - I glut me of the loveliness I there behold, - For from the writhing stream a sprite is born - Whose beauteous form bedazzles me, - And she doth point me - To the golding gray of morn. The sea - Is singing, singing her unto my soul. - I dreamed she sighed, but waked to hear her sing. - I hear thee, Phantom, bidding me on, on! - But morn hath stolen dreams away. - I strain me to the hills to trace our path, - And lo, unbroken is the snow, - And cots have melted with the light, - And yet, methinks a murmuring doth come - From out the echoes of the night, - That hid them ’neath the crannies of the hills. - Life! Life! I lead thee on! - And faith doth spring from seedlings of thy doubt! - - EPILOGUE. - - Thick stands the hill in garb of fir and snow. - The Lady of the Winter’s Knight hath danced - Her weary, and stretched her in her purity, - To cover aching wounds of Winter’s overloving woo. - - * * * * * - -“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: - - Like to a thief who wrappeth him - Within the night-tide’s robe, - So standeth the specter o’ the Earth; - Yea, he doth robe him o’ the Earth’s fair store. - Yea, he decketh in the star-hung purple o’ the eve, - And reacheth from out the night unto the morn, - And wringeth from her waking all her gold, - And at his touching, lo, the stars are dust, - And morn’s gold but heat’s glow, and ne’er - The golden blush of His own metal store. - - Yea, he strideth then - Upon the flower-hung couches of the field, - And traileth him thereon his robe, - And lo, the flowers do die of thirst - And parch of scoarching of his breath. - Yea, and ’mid the musics of the earth he strideth him, - And full-songed throats are mute. - Yea, music dieth of his luring glance. - And e’en the love of earth he seeketh out - And turneth it unto a folly-play. - Yea, beneath his glance, the fairy frost - Upon the love sprite’s wing - Doth flutter, as a dust, and drop, and leave - But bruised and broken bearers for His store. - - Yea, and ’mid man’s day he ever strideth him - And layeth low man’s reasoning. His robes - Are hung of all the earth’s most loved. - From off the flowers their fresh; from off the day - The fairness of her hours. For dark, and hid - Beneath his cloak, he steppeth ever, - And doth hiss his name to thee— - Doubt. - -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 -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: - - I stride abroad before my brothers like a roaring lion, - Yet at even’s close from whence cometh the icy hand - That clutcheth at my heart and maketh me afraid— - The slipping of myself away, I know not whither? - And lo, I fall atremble. - When I would grasp a straw, ’tis then I find it not. - Can I then trust me on this journey lone - To country I deem peopled, but know not? - My very heart declareth faith, yet hath not thine - Been touched and chilled by this same phantom? - Ah, through the granite sips the lichen— - And hast thou not a long dark journey made? - Why fear? As cloud wreaths fade - From spring’s warm smile, so shall fear - Be put to flight by faith. - - I pluck me buds of varied hue and choose the violet - To weave a garland for my loved and best. - I search for bloom among the rocks - And find but feathery plume. - I weave, and lo, the blossoms fade - Before I reach the end, - And faded lie amid my tears— - And yet I weave and weave. - I search for jewels ’neath the earth, - And find them at the dawn, - Besprinkled o’er the rose and leaf, - And showered by the sparrow’s wing, - Who seeketh ’mid the dew-wet vine - A harbor for her home. - I search for truth along the way - And find but dust and web, - And in the smile of infant lips - I know myself betrayed. - I watch the swallow skim across the blue - To homelands of the South, - And ah, the gnawing at my heart doth cease; - For how he wings and wings - To lands he deemeth peopled by his brothers, - Whose song he hears in flight! - Not skimming on the lake’s fair breast is he, - But winging on and on, - And dim against the feathery cloud - He fades into the blue. - I stand with withered blossoms crushed, - And weave and weave and weave. - -This is Patience’s answer to the eternal question: - - Can I then trust me on this journey lone - To country I deem peopled, but know not? - -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— - - Dim against the feathery cloud - He fades into the blue. - -But Patience does not content herself with appeals to faith, eloquent as -they may be. 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: - - “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 me - fold these tired hands and sleep. Beloved, I trust, and expect my - trust, for ne’er yet did He fail.” - -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.” - - -------------- - -And again she sings: - - What carest, dear, should sorrow trace - Where dimples sat, and should - Her dove-gray cloud to settle ’neath thine eye? - The withering of thy curving cheek - Bespeaks the spending of thy heart. - Lips once full are bruised - By biting of restraint. Wax wiser, dear. - To wane is but to rest and rise once more. - -Or she puts the thought in another form in this assurance: - - Weary not, O brother! - ’Tis apaled, the sun’s gold sink. - Then weary not, but set thy path to end, - E’en as the light doth fade and leave - Nay trace to mar the night’s dark tide. - Sink thou, then, as doth the sun, - Assured that thou shalt rise! - - -------------- - -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. - - How have I caught at fleeting joys - And swifter fleeting sorrows! - And days and nights, and morns and eves, - And seasons, too, aslipping thro’ the years, afleet. - And whither hath their trend then led? - Ah, whither! - - How do I to stop amid the very pulse o’ life. - Afeared! Yea, fear clutcheth at my very heart! - For what? The night? Nay, night doth shimmer - And flash the jewels I did count - E’er fear had stricken me. - - The morn? Nay, I waked with morn atremor, - And know the day-tide’s every hour. - How do I then to clutch me - At my heart, afeared? - The morrow? Nay, - The morrow but bringeth old loves - And hopes anew. - - Ah, woe is me, ’tis emptiness, aye, naught— - The bottomlessness o’ the pit that doth afright! - Afeared? Aye, but driven fearless on! - - What! Promise ye ’tis to mart I plod? - What! Promise ye new joys? - Ah, but should I sleep, to waken me - To joys I ne’er had supped! - - I see me stand abashed and timid, - As a child who cast a toy beloved, - For bauble that but caught the eye - And left the heart ahungered. - - What! Should I search in vain - To find a sorrow that had fleeted hence - Afore my coming and found it not? - Ah, me, the emptiness! - - And what! should joys that but a prick - Of gladness dealt, and teased my hours - To happiness, be lost amid this promised bliss? - Nay, I clutch me to my heart - In fear, in truth! - - Do harken Ye! And cast afearing - To the wiles of beating gales and wooing breeze. - I find me throat aswell and voice attuned. - Ah, let me then to sing, for joy consumeth me! - I’ve builded me a land, my mart, - And fear hath slipped away to leave me sing. - - I sleep, and feel afloating. - Whither! Whither! To wake,— - And wonder warmeth at my heart, - I’ve waked in yester-year! - - What! Ye? And what! I’st thou? - Ah, have I then slept, to dream? Come, - Ne’er a dream-wraith looked me such a welcoming! - ’Twas yesterday this hand wert then afold, - And now,—ah, do I dream? - ’Tis warm-pressed within mine own! - Dreams! Dreams! And yet, we’ve met afore! - - I see me flitting thro’ this vale, - And tho’ I strive to spell - The mountain’s height and valley’s depth, - I do but fall afail. - Wouldst thou then drink a potion - Were I to offer thee an empty cup? - Couldst thou to pluck the rainbow from the sky? - As well, then, might I spell to thee. - - But I do promise at the waking, - Old joys, and sorrows ripened to a mellow heart. - And e’en the crime-stained wretch, abasked in light, - Shall cast his seed and spring afruit! - - Then do I cease to clutch the emptiness - And sleep, and sleep me unafeared! - -What is it that affrights, she asks, when we think of death? It is the -emptiness, she answers, 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 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. - - And e’en the crime-stained wretch, abasked in light, - Shall cast his seed and spring afruit. - -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. - - But this I promise at the waking, - Old joys, and sorrows ripened to a mellow heart. - -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: - -“That that hath flitted hence be sorrows of earth, and ahere be ripened -and thine. Love alost be sorrow of earth and dwell ahere.” - -She thus makes these lines an answer to the question put before: - - What! Should I search in vain - To find a sorrow that had fleeted hence - Afore my coming and found it not? - -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: - - “Nay. Earth be a home of sorrow’s dream. For sorrow be but dream of - the soul asleep. ’Tis wake (death) that setteth free.” - -And after such assurance comes the cry of faith and content and peace: - - Then do I cease to clutch the emptiness, - And sleep, and sleep me unafeared! - -With this comforting assurance in mind one may cheerfully approach her -solemn address to Death: - - Who art thou, - Who tracketh ’pon the path o’ me— - O’ each turn, aye, and track? - - Thou! And thou astand! - And o’er thy face a cloud, - Aye, a darked and somber cloud! - Who art thou, - Thou tracker ’mid the day’s bright, - And ’mid the night’s deep; - E’en when I be astopped o’ track? - - Who art thou, - That toucheth o’ the flesh o’ me, - And sendeth chill unto the heart o’ me? - Aye, and who art thou, - Who putteth forth thy hand - And setteth at alow the hopes o’ me? - - Aye, who art thou, - Who bideth ever ’mid a dream? - Aye, and that the soul o’ me - Doth shrink at know? - - Who art thou? Who art thou, - Who steppeth ever to my day, - And blotteth o’ the sun away? - - Who art thou, - Who stepped to Earth at birth o’ me, - And e’en ’mid wail o’ weak, - Aye, at the birth o’ wail, - Did set a chill ’pon infant flesh; - And at the track o’ man ’pon Earth - Doth follow ever, and at height afollow, - And doth touch, - And all doth crumble to a naught. - Thou! Thou! Who art thou? - Ever do I to ask, and ever wish - To see the face o’ thee, - And ne’er, ne’er do I to know thee— - Thou, the Traveler ’pon the path o’ me. - And, Brother, thou dost give - That which world doth hold - From see o’ me! - - Stand thou! Stand thou! - And draw thy cloak from o’er thy face! - Ever hath the dread o’ thee - Clutched at the heart o’ me. - Aye, and at the end o’ journey, - I beseech thee, - Cast thy cloak and show thee me! - Aye, show thee me! - - Ah, thou art the gift o’ Him! - The Key to There! The Love o’ Earth! - Aye, and Hate hath made o’ man - To know thee not— - Thou! Thou! O Death! - -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!” - -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: - - Spring’s morn afulled o’ merry-song, - Aye, and tickle o’ streams-thread through Summer’s noon; - - Arock o’ hum o’ hearts-throb, - And danced awhite the air at scorch; - - Winter’s rage asing o’ cold - And wail o’ Winter’s sorry at the Summer’s leave; - - Ashivered breeze, abear o’ leaf’s rustling - At dry o’ season’s ripe; - - Night’s deep, where sound astarteth silence; - Morn’s sweet, awooed by bird’s coax. - - Earth’s sounds, ye deem? - I tell thee ’tis but the echoing o’ Here. - - Thy days be naught - Save coax o’ Here athere! - -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 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: - - Swift as light-flash o’ storm, swift, swift, - Would I send the wish o’ thine asearch. - Swift, swift as bruise o’ swallows’ wing ’pon air, - I’d send asearch thy wish, areach to lands unseen; - I’d send aback o’ answer laden. - Swift, swift, would I to flee unto the Naught - Thou knowest as the Here. - Swift, swift I’d bear aback to thee - What thou wouldst seek. Swift, swift, - Would I to bear aback to thee. - - Dost deem the path ahid doth lead to naught? - Dost deem thy footfall leadest thee to nothingness? - Dost pin not ’pon His word o’ promising, - And art at sorry and afear to follow Him? - I’d put athin thy cup a sweet, a pledge o’ love’s-buy. - I’d send aback a glad-song o’ this land. - Sing thou, sing on, though thou art ne’er aheard— - Like love awaked, the joy o’ breath - Anew born o’ His loving. - Set thee at rest, and trod the path unfearing. - For He who putteth joy to earth, aplanted joy - Athin the reach o’ thee, e’en through - The dark o’ path at end o’ journey. - His smile! His word! His loving! - Put forth thy hand at glad, and I do promise thee - That Joy o’ earth asupped shall fall as naught, - And thou shalt sup thee deep o’ joys, - O’ Bearer, aye, and Source; and like glad light o’ day - And sweet o’ love, thy coming here shall be! - -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 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? - - - - - FINIS. - - - - - INDEX - - - Affection, 46 - Allegory, on faith (verse), 255-266 - Anatomist. _See_ Teacher of anatomy - Anglo-Saxon, 104 - Anne, 145, 146 - Ape, 112, 117 - Aphorisms, 19 - Attunement, 203 - Autumn (verse), 82, 83, 84 - - B., Mrs., 182 - Babe, parable of a, 168 - Bartman, parable of a, 165 - Basketmaker, parable of the, 167 - Beppo, 112 - Birth of a Song (verse), 86, 87 - Blank verse, 21, 64, 107 - Book learning, 251 - Books, 60 - Botanist. _See_ Teacher of botany - Brew, 185 - “Builder of dreams” (verse), 85, 86 - Burke, 89 - - Capital punishment, 217 - Carrington, W. T., quoted, 6 - Charlie, Prince, 145, 146 - Childhood, tone of, 51 - Christ, 122 - Attitude toward, 244 - Christmas (verse), 99 - Christmas story, 122, 123-141 - Cloak, parable of the, 171 - Cockshut, 57 - Communications, character, 32, 202, 203 - Genuineness, 33, 39, 41 - Intellectual character 9, 11 - Method, 187 - Compliments, 49 - Composition, method, 66, 67, 80, 164, 185 - Conversations, character, 173, 174 - Substance in her words, 211 - Cup, 224, 225 - Curran, John H., 53, 178, 199 - Curran, Mrs. John H., 3, 4, 14, 31, 41, 45, 46, 182, 187, 188, 189, - 201, 205 - Education, 34 - Sittings, 35, 36 - - D., Dr. and Mrs., 207-212 - Day, pæan to the (verse), 84 - Death, fear of, 196 - Fear of (verse), 267-269 - Life following, 79 - robbed of terrors, 281 - Solemn address to (verse), 279-281 - Devotional verse, 97 - Divinity of the human, 245 - Doubt (verse), 265 - Dougal, 145, 146 - Drama, 109 - Six-act medieval play described, 142 - Dress, references to, 52, 56, 192 - Dreams. _See_ “Builder of dreams” - _See_ Phantom _also_ - Dreamer (verse), 72, 73 - - Earth questions, reasoning upon, 217 - Eastern morn, 144, 145 - England, 15, 33, 149 - Northern, 60 - Epigrams. _See_ Aphorisms - Ermaline, Princess, 145, 146 - - Failures in life, 227 - Fairy’s wand, parable of, 168 - Faith, allegory on (verse), 255-266 - Triumph of (verse), 253-266 - Femininity, 42, 52 - Flesh. _See_ Soul - Folly, 221, 222 - Fool, 112 - Fool and the Lady, The (story), 109, 111-121 - Franco, 151 - Friendship (verse), 96 - Fun-loving spirit, 53 - Future. _See_ Immortality - - G., Miss, 207 - G., Mr., 208 - G., Mrs., 207 - God, 226 - Identity with, 242 - Love for (verse), 237-239 - Song of, 193 - - “Hands” (verse), 233 - Harp (verse), 86, 87 - Herbs, story of the, 212-215 - Holmes, John Haynes, quoted, 10 - Hours of day (verse), 215 - Housekeeping, 42 - Humor, 31 - in verse, 74, 75, 76 - Hutchings, Mr., 53 - Hutchings, Mrs. Emily Grant, 4, 44, 188 - - Imagery, 72, 78 - Immortality, growth, 277 - Mystery, 249, 250 - Nature, 272 - Reality, 247 - Recognition of friends, 270, 276 - Impatience, 45, 46 - Individuality, 41 - Infancy, 92, 94 - Inn of Falcon Feather, 111 - - J., Miss, 189, 192, 193 - James, Wm., 199, 200 - Jana, 127 - Jane-o’-apes, 58, 131 - John the Peaceful, 122, 123, 132 - Joy, promise of future, 283-284 - - K., Dr., 195, 199 - King of Wisdom, 221 - Kirtle, 55, 56 - - Language, 13, 56, 104, 149, 150, 153, 164, 189 - Laughter, 168 - Leaf, fallen (verse), 82 - Leta, 124 - Life for a life, 218 - Life likened to the seasons (verse), 252 - Lisa, 109, 112 - Literature, 223, 224 - Love, childhood, 51 - Divine (verse), 235, 236 - for Christ, 244 - for the loveless (verse), 226 - for the wearied (verse), 227 - Friendly, 96 - God’s (verse), 97 - Man and woman (verse), 94 - maternal, 92, 94 - Religious, 226 - Song, “Drink ye unto me,” 180 - to God (verse), 237-239 - Universal, 234 - “Loves of yester’s day” (verse), 88 - Lullaby, 64, example, 68 - Spinning Wheel, 69 - - M., Mr. and Mrs., 207-210 - Marion, 153 - Mary, the Virgin, 245 - Marye, Lady, 122, 123 - Massinger, 58 - Maxims. _See_ Aphorisms - Men, attitude toward, 49 - Men and women, 94 - Merchants, parable of, 166 - Message, 224 - Metaphor, borrowed, 78, 79 - Metaphysics, 29 - Mise-man song, 179 - Mission, 284 - Mite and the Seeds, tale of the, 176-178 - Musician, 208 - - Nature, Love of, 25, 79 - Value of, 251 - Neurologist, 204 - New England, 15, 33 - New Year (verse), 101 - Newspaper article, 215 - Newspaper writer, 189 - - Ouija board, 1, 5, 65, 187 - - P., Dr., 204-207 - Parables, 165 - Story of the herbs, 212-215 - Personality, 59 - Pettieskirt, 52, 54, 56, 154, 186, 205 - Phantom and the Dreamer, The (verse), 255-266 - Physicians, 204 - Physician, conversation with a young, 16 - Description, 50 - Poetry. _See_ Songs; Verse - Pollard, Mrs. Mary E., 5, 43, 44 - Prayers, Character, 239, 243 - Examples (verse), 239-244 - “Primrose path,” 77, 78 - Prose, 107 - Psychic communications. _See_ Communications - Puritan, 55, 59, 69, 192 - “Put,” 186-189 - - R., Dr., 204-207 - Records of communications, character, 3 - Regal, 123 - Religion, 223, 226 - Revelation, 225, 226 - Rhyme, 21, 64 - Rhythm, 107 - - Sarcasm, 49 - Scottish, 60 - Seed, 224, 225 - Seeds. _See_ Mite and the Seeds - Self, 221, 222 - Shakespeare, 57, 77, 104 - Shelley, 90, 105 - Simplicity, 104, 105 - Sittings, character, 18, 35 - Skylark (verse), 89 - Society for Psychical Research, 223 - Song, birth of a (verse), 86, 87 - Songs, 173 - “Do I love the morn?” 215 - “Drink ye unto me,” 180 - “Gone, gone,” 198 - “How have I sought!” 203 - “Loth as Night,” 211 - Mise-man, 179 - To Miss J., 193 - To Mr. G., a musician, 208 - Sorrow, comfort for, 231 - “Sorrows ripened to a mellow heart,” 275, 278 - Soul, 190 - Body and, 218 - Spelling, 66 - Spinning, 206 - Spinning Wheel (verse), 69 - Spinster, 49, 69 - Spirituality, 24, 152 - Spring (verse), 81 - Stories, 108 - Character, 185 - Dramatic character, 109 - Story of Telka, described, 149 - “Story of the Judge Bush,” 153-163 - Stranger, The (story), 108, 122, 123-141 - Subconsciousness, 34, 35 - - Teacher of anatomy, 182, 190 - Teacher of botany, 183 - Telka, 149, 150 - Theater, 53 - Throb, 202 - Timon, 124 - Tina, 124 - Tonio, 113 - Tournament, 114 - Tricksters, 208 - Triviality, 10 - Truth, 182 - - V., Dr., 195-201 - Verse, 21 - Dictation, manner, 65 - Range, 63 - Technique, 65, 81 - Virgin Mary, 245 - - W., Dr., 176, 178 - W., Mrs., 176, 178, 182 - War, 284 - War (verse), 91 - “Waste of earth” (verse), 228-231 - Wasted words, 243 - Wearied ones, 227 - “Weaving,” 175 - Widow, visitor at the Currans, 217, 218 - Wind (verse), 75 - Winter (verse), 79, 80 - Wisdom, 222 - Wit, 18, 19 - Worth, Patience, advent, 2; - affection, 46; - appearance, 207; - book learning, 60; - date, 37, 197; - elusiveness, 60; - femininity, 42, 52; - fun-loving spirit, 53; - impatience, 45, 46; - individuality, 41; - laughter, love of, 168; - love her inspiration, 234; - men, attitude toward, 49; - message, 224; - mission, 284, 285; - obscurity, 199; - on being investigated, 196; - personality, 12, 59, 220, 224; - phrases, striking, 40; - place, 38; - revelation, 226; - sarcasm, 49; - speech, 39, 56, 104, 149, 150, 153, 164, 189; - spinster, 49, 69; - substance in her words, 211 - - X., Dr., 182-195, 204 - X., Mrs., 182, 183 - - Z., Dr., 187-189 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -“An Authentic Original Voice in Literature.”—_The Atlantic Monthly._ - - ROBERT FROST - The New American Poet - - NORTH OF BOSTON - -_Alice Brown_: - -“Mr. Frost has done truer work about New England than anybody—except -Miss Wilkins.” - -_New York Evening Sun_: - -“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.” - -_Boston Transcript_: - -“The first poet for half a century to express New England life -completely with a fresh, original and appealing way of his own.” - -_Brooklyn Daily Eagle_: - -“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. _The London -Times_ 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....” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -A BOY’S WILL Mr. Frost’s First Volume of Poetry - -_The Academy_ (_London_): - -“We have read every line with that amazement and delight which are too -seldom evoked by books of modern verse.” - - _NORTH OF BOSTON._ _Cloth. $2.35 net._ - _NORTH OF BOSTON._ _Leather. $2.00 net._ - _A BOY’S WILL._ _Cloth. 75 cents net._ - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - =_JEAN-CHRISTOPHE_= - - =_By ROMAIN ROLLAND_= - -Translated from the French by GILBERT CANNAN. 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STEVENSON - -Collects the best short poetry of the English language—not only the -poetry everybody says is good, but also the verses that everybody reads. -(_3742 pages, India paper, complete author, title and first line -indices._) - -The most comprehensive and representative collection of American and -English poetry ever published, including 3,120 unabridged poems from -some 1,100 authors. - -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. - -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. - -The poems as arranged by subject, and the classification is unusually -close and searching. 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Herald_: “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.” - - _Public Opinion_: “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. 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