BILL AND JOE COME, dear old comrade, you and IWill steal an hour from days gone by,The shining days when life was new,And all was bright with morning dew,The lusty days of long ago,When you were Bill and I was Joe. Your name may flaunt a titled trailProud as a cockerel's rainbow tail,And mine as brief appendix wearAs Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;To-day, old friend, remember stillThat I am Joe and you are Bill. You've won the great world's... more...

THE piping of our slender, peaceful reedsWhispers uncared for while the trumpets bray;Song is thin air; our hearts' exulting playBeats time but to the tread of marching deeds,Following the mighty van that Freedom leads,Her glorious standard flaming to the day!The crimsoned pavement where a hero bleedsBreathes nobler lessons than the poet's lay.Strong arms, broad breasts, brave hearts, are better worthThan strains that sing the ravished echoes... more...

THE MORNING VISIT A sick man's chamber, though it often boastThe grateful presence of a literal toast,Can hardly claim, amidst its various wealth,The right unchallenged to propose a health;Yet though its tenant is denied the feast,Friendship must launch his sentiment at least,As prisoned damsels, locked from lovers' lips,Toss them a kiss from off their fingers' tips. The morning visit,—not till sickness fallsIn the charmed circles of your... more...

THE PILGRIM'S VISION IN the hour of twilight shadowsThe Pilgrim sire looked out;He thought of the "bloudy Salvages"That lurked all round about,Of Wituwamet's pictured knifeAnd Pecksuot's whooping shout;For the baby's limbs were feeble,Though his father's arms were stout. His home was a freezing cabin,Too bare for the hungry rat;Its roof was thatched with ragged grass,And bald enough of that;The hole that served for casementWas glazed with an... more...

TO MY READERS NAY, blame me not; I might have sparedYour patience many a trivial verse,Yet these my earlier welcome shared,So, let the better shield the worse. And some might say, "Those ruder songsHad freshness which the new have lost;To spring the opening leaf belongs,The chestnut-burs await the frost." When those I wrote, my locks were brown,When these I write—ah, well a-day!The autumn thistle's silvery downIs not the purple bloom of... more...

TO MY READERS NAY, blame me not; I might have sparedYour patience many a trivial verse,Yet these my earlier welcome shared,So, let the better shield the worse. And some might say, "Those ruder songsHad freshness which the new have lost;To spring the opening leaf belongs,The chestnut-burs await the frost." When those I wrote, my locks were brown,When these I write—ah, well a-day!The autumn thistle's silvery downIs not the purple bloom of... more...

PREFACE. In this, the third series of Breakfast-Table conversations, a slight dramatic background shows off a few talkers and writers, aided by certain silent supernumeraries. The machinery is much like that of the two preceding series. Some of the characters must seem like old acquaintances to those who have read the former papers. As I read these over for the first time for a number of years, I notice one character; presenting a class of... more...

10 HARVARD LAW REVIEW 457 (1897) When we study law we are not studying a mystery but a well-known profession. We are studying what we shall want in order to appear before judges, or to advise people in such a way as to keep them out of court. The reason why it is a profession, why people will pay lawyers to argue for them or to advise them, is that in societies like ours the command of the public force is intrusted to the judges in certain... more...

The Deacon’s Masterpiece Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,That was built in such a logical wayIt ran a hundred years to a day,And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,I’ll tell you what happened without delay,Scaring the parson into fits,Frightening people out of their wits,—Have you ever heard of that, I say? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,Georgius Secundus was then alive,—Snuffy old drone from the... more...

CHAPTER I. AN ADVERTISEMENT. On Saturday, the 18th day of June, 1859, the "State Banner and Delphian Oracle," published weekly at Oxbow Village, one of the principal centres in a thriving river-town of New England, contained an advertisement which involved the story of a young life, and stained the emotions of a small community. Such faces of dismay, such shaking of heads, such gatherings at corners, such halts of complaining, rheumatic wagons,... more...